The Detective's Daughter
by NeoMulder
Summary: How would life be different for the Detective and Dr. Watson if Sherlock found out he had a daughter who was like him? (RE-WRITING!)
1. Chapter 1

Today, I was wearing dark, blue jeans, a black tanktop, a pair of black and white converse, and a black jacket that resembled leather. My long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail with some hair left down to frame my face. Right now I was on my way to the press conference where the Detective Inspector and Detective Seargent were going to be speaking. I idly wondered how wrong their assumptions were going to be this time.  
>When I entered the room the first thing I noticed were all the reporters and I thought about dismissing them, but that could prove fatal. It was very unlikely that any of them were about to stand up and try to kill someone, but it was better to be safe than sorry. So I let my eyes wash over the room and it's inhabitants.<br>All of the reporters were dressed in professional looking clothes and either had a notepad and pencil or a camera of some sort. Most of the people who were actually taking pictures were in the back, but there was one or two in the front snapping pictures. That was a bit rude in my opinion. The room was mostly painted in hues of gray with white that blended with the glass panes of the windows and the wall that held the door that I had just walked through. It was rather boring in all. Nothing stood out in the crowd. The woman in the front row with the white collar was cheating on her husband with one of the cameramen in the back. The one on the right.  
>He was wearing a brown jacket that was on the bulky side and he was probably one of the only people who hadn't spent an hour on their looks before coming to this conference. His hair was short and was almost the exact shade of his jacket, the only thing that wasn't in brownish colors were the silver headphones that were on his head. Obviously he wasn't terribly interested in getting answers, I thought as I took a seat in the back so as not to draw too much unwanted attention to myself.<br>The Detective Inspector looked uncomfortable as his colleague, the Detective Seargent, addressed the gathered reporters. The two of them were sitting at a table at the front of the room that was on a platform so they were slightly above the press.  
>The Detective Inspector was wearing a white button down shirt with a black dress coat over it. I couldn't see the shade of his pants, but it was most likely the same as his coat. The top button of his shirt was unbuttoned and there was a large gold watch on his left wrist with a brown leather strap.<br>The Detective Seargent was wearing a loose light blue top that was more on the casual side than professional and she also wore a watch on her left wrist, though it was silver. Her watch was smaller than the Inspector's and it was rectangularly shaped while his was round, but those were really the only differences.  
>"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide." The Detective Seargent said loudly. I supressed a laugh at the outrageous idea as I listened to the rest of what the Seargent had to say. "We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now."<br>Linked suicides? That was even more preposterous than the idea that the deaths of the three people were suicides. This was why I had chosen to step in. These people needed my help and it would give me something to do. After I went to the morgue where the bodies were and somehow got a look at them and I had to get aquainted with the idiots on the police force and the ones who would be even slightly helpful to me. While I thought through these things, I had been listening to the Inspector's answers to the reporters questions and filing through the information. Trashing what was unimportant and saving the important bits of information.  
>"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" The brunette in the front inquired. I sat back in my seat as I waited to hear how the Inspector would answer this question.<br>"Well, they all took the same poison; um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be; none of them had shown any prior indication of ..." The Inspector replied, but was soon interrupted.  
>"But you can't have serial suicides." The blonde in the third row spoke up.<br>"Well, apparantly you can." The Inspector replied. What an idiot, I thought with a roll of my eyes. I stretched my legs out in front of me and crossed my ankles, resigning myself to listen to the rest of this.  
>"These three people: there's nothing that links them?" Another reporter questioned. It was the one who was unfaithful.<br>"There's no link been found yet, but we're looking for it. There has to be one." The Inspector informed the press. A moment later my phone vibrated in my pocket, whilst everyone else's phones trilled a text alert.  
>I sighed and reached into my pocket to retrieve it, deciding whatever it was would be much more interesting then listening to these people spout nonsense. The text I recieved read: Wrong!<br>Someone knows what they're talking about, I thought as I set my phone onto my lap. I saw that the Dective Seargent had also looked at her phone.  
>"If you've all got texts, please ignore them." She ordered. So she knows whoever sent the text and she doesn't care for the individual. If she didn't know this person she would most likely suspect it was the killer.<br>I stifled a yawn as I stood up and exited the room whilst typing on my phone, trying to track the phone this text had been sent from. A few people glanced at me as I walked through the door and out of the building. Having already memorized the path I took to get in, I managed to navigate the halls without bumping into anything with ease. I didn't have to worry about too many people since most were at the conference and the path I took was mostly deserted.  
>A short while after I exited the building I had already narrowed the text to having come from Baker Street, Ravin Avenue, or Denven Road. Whoever had sent the text, officially had my attention. They obviously knew what they were doing, considering the text was near impossible to trace. And even then the best I could do was find a general location of where it came from.<br>I sighed. It would be pointless to try to find the person who had sent it. So, dead end...almost.  
>I let a smile slip onto my face as I remembered that the Detective Seargent seemed to know the person who had sent this text, so perhaps she could help me. It was a start. Next stop St Bartholomew's Hospital morgue. I just had to figure out how to get there.<br>I quickly put a search in for directions to the morgue, setting off when they came. If I ran I could be there by noon.

When I arrived at the hospital I quietly slipped in, waiting till the receptionist had her back turned before heading down the hallway where the morgue would most likely be. Looking at dead bodies wasn't very fun, but I was used to it. Now all I had to do was find which ones were the correct bodies, though I didn't think that would be much of a challenge since they were listed on the clipboard that was handily just lying on the table. I couldn't, however, get after anyone for this because it's not everyday that someone breaks into the morgue.  
>Okay, so number 12, 15, and 21 are the ones with Beth Davenport, James Phillimore, and Sir Jefferey Patterson. I quietly walked down the hall of mortuary cold chambers until I got to number 12. I unlatched the door and pulled the slab partially out, wincing at the slight clanging noise.<br>Beth Davenport had shoulder length blonde hair, and pale skin. Her face was creased with wrinkles, but she couldn't have been more than forty. No outer evidence that she was murdered and it would definitely be noticed if I did an autopsy. So onto the next chamber, I thought as I slid Beth's body back into it's cold chamber and latched the door before walking to number 15.  
>James Phillimore was at the most eighteen I saw when I slid his body out after unlatching the door. Short dirty blonde hair, crooked jaw, and no evidence. I slid him back into his place, latching the door before turning to leave. The last body was most definitely a dead end as well. Whoever killed these people did it well. And since it was made to look like suicide there was no chance of getting an autopsy performed and even if they did it would be very difficult for me to get a close enough look at what was found, since the doctor assigned to perform the autopsy would most likely be incompetent.<br>"Hey!" Someone yelled from behind me. I froze and slowly turned around. The man had a white coat on and he had short brown hair, green eyes, a slight stubble, and he was heading towards me with a very confused expression. "What are you doing down here?"  
>I was silent for a moment as I slipped into the role of a frightened teenager in about a second. "I'm sorry. I was looking for the bathroom and I got turned around. Is this considered trespassing? I'm not gonna go to jail, am I?" I wrung my hands together. "'Cause I have finals coming up and that would just mess up everything. Oh, my gosh my mom's gonna be so upset at me. Please don't press charges, sir. I am so, so, so, so -"<br>"It's fine. I won't tell anyone, but you have to get out of here. Come on, I'll show you to the ladies room." The man interrupts.  
>I let a relieved smile spread across my face. "Thank you."<br>The man motioned for me to come with him and I followed him out of the morgue and to the restrooms where he left me after I went in. I let my act drop and exited the room when I was sure that I could get through unnoticed. As I was walking I noticed a sign that read: Bart's Lab. This sounded interesting.  
>I peered in through the window on the door and saw three men talking. In the lab there were several instruments I recognized and quickly dismissed, there were some containers against the back wall along with some papers that were pinned to the walls.<br>One of the men looked to be in his late- twenties or thirties, with dark, brown, slightly curly and wavy hair, blue eyes, and a knowledgable gaze. He was wearing a black dress coat over a white button up dress shirt. His pants matched his jacket and he was wearing black shiny dress shoes. He was squeezing something from a pipette into a petri dish.  
>The second man I turned my gaze to was 20 pounds overweight, had an ugly brown jacket on to match his pants over a yellowish button up with a pair of brown dress shoes and a yellow, green and red striped tie. He was wearing a pair of glasses on his face that were rectangular and he had short brown hair that just barely reached his hairline. His eyes were also brown. He seemed boring so I turned to the next man.<br>The last man had a military grade haircut, brown eyes that weren't nearly as plain as his friend's were, and his posture also marked him as military. His lips were small and thin, matching his eyebrows, his weight was healthy, and he was using a cane that he most likely didn't need. He was wearing a gray, white, and black plaid button-up, dark blue jeans, and a blue-black jacket that gave him a casual yet not sloppy look. His shoes were pretty normal. Afghanistan or Iraq? I thought. I quieted my breathing so I could hear their conversation better. He's an army doctor.  
>"Well, bit different from my day." The military man said, looking around at all the equipment.<br>I filed this away into my theory about the man as his friend chuckled before speaking. "You've no idea!"  
>I tilted my head to the side careful to stay out of their sight as the taller man near the back of the room spoke as he sat down. "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."<br>Mike looked to the taller man and questioned, "And what's wrong with the landline?"  
>"I prefer to text." The other man replied. I shifted my position so I was casually leaning against the wall, since people were giving me weird looks.<br>"Sorry. It's in my coat." Mike answered.  
>The man who had spoken first fished in his back pocket and pulled out his own phone. "Er, here. Use mine."<br>So, he's kind as well. That was rare in my experience. I glanced at his phone and quickly added to my theory. Has a brother named Harry, that is a drinker and is worried about him. The military doctor was invalidated from Afghanistan or Iraq.  
>"Oh. Thank you." The taller man responded as he stood, glancing briefly at Mike before walking over to the other unknown man.<br>"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike introduced, gesturing to the man with the psychosomatic limp.  
>The unknown man reached Jhon and took the phone from him, turning partially away from him before flipping open the keyboard and starting to type. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"<br>I stopped breathing for a moment as I listened closer. Could he be like me?  
>Jhon frowned as Mike smiled knowingly from his spot near the two men. So he was usually like this, I thought, which was obvious by Mike's reaction. Jhon looked at the unknown man as he continued to type. "Sorry?"<br>"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man requested, briefly looking up at Jhon before looking back to the phone.  
>Jhon heasitated and looked to Mike, confused, but Mike just smiled smugly. "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?"<br>I grimaced as a woman came up to the room, holding a mug of coffee. She had bright red hair that was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing a white coat over a plaid dressy style dress that she paired with black flats. Her lips were a little small and her eyes were a greenish brown.  
>"I'm sorry who are you?" She asked.<br>"Who are you?" I inquired, slightly agitated that she had come up and interrupted what I was doing.  
>"I'm Molly. Are you spying on them?" Her tone became enraged. Obviously she felt very strongly about this.<br>"Am I?" I asked, deciding to see how long it would take to annoy her.  
>"Come on." She groaned, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the room, even as I protested.<br>The unknown man looked up as Molly came into the room, pulling me behind her. "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." The man shut down Jhon's phone and handed it back to him as Molly brought me and the mug over to him. He looked closely at her as he took the coffee. "What happened to the lipstick?"  
>Molly smiled awkwardly at him and I felt the urge to roll my eyes. "It wasn't working for me."<br>"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." He responded. I completely agreed. Some make-up could make a large improvement for her, not that she was particularly ugly, just an annoyance at the moment. The man turned and went back to his station, taking a sip of the coffee and grimacing at the taste.  
>"...Okay." Molly said softly before turning to me. "Now do you have something you want tell them."<br>I tilted my head and pretended to think for a moment before looking at Molly. "Do I?"  
>"Fine. I'll tell them." Molly said exasperated, turning back to the three men. "This little girl was spying on you. Thought you should knoiw."<br>I supressed a glare at the little girl comment and watched as Molly turned and headed for the door. "Was I?"  
>"Were you?" Jhon questioned, looking at me.<br>I tilted my head to the side. "What do you think...sir?" I added the last word to see if the interesting one would pick up on it. The others most likely wouldn't. He seemed to know I was addressing him with the last word.  
>"I think your game's going to get annoying soon." Jhon answered. I looked over at him and sighed, straightening my act up.<br>"Fine, I'll stop. And I was eavesdropping, not spying. Spying implies that I was trying to gain something from you. Eavesdropping is similar although it's usually done out of curiosity." I replied. "Don't mind me." I walked around the one I had yet to hear the name of and I started fiddling around with all of the chemical instruments.  
>"How do you feel about the violin?" The nameless man asked, obviously addressing Jhon.<br>Jhon looked at Mike who was still smiling smugly, but soon realized that the man was speaking to him. "I'm sorry, what?"  
>"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." While the man spoke he was typing on a laptop keyboard. When he was done typing he looked round at Jhon. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He threw an obviously false smile at Jhon who just stared at him blankly for a moment before looking to Mike.<br>"Oh, you ... you told him about me?" Jhon asked his friend. I shook my head as I watched.  
>"Not a word." Mike answered. Of course he didn't. Thought that was obvious. Since he knew about Afghanistan.<br>Jhon turned to the unknown man again. "Then who said anything about flatmates?"  
>The man I still did not know the name of picked up his greatcoat and put it on before speaking. "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."<br>"How did you know about Afghanistan?" Jhon asked. I stopped messing with the equipment and looked up at him, disbelievingly. It was written all over him!  
>The other man, however, ignored his question, wrapped his scarf around his neck, then picked up his mobile and checked it. "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He walked over to Jhon and I got a sudden idea. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Putting his phone in the inside pocket of his coat, he walked past Jhon and headed for the door.<br>Jhon turned to look at him. "Is that it?"  
>The man turned away from the door and strolled closer to Jhon again. "Is that what?"<br>"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" Jhon questioned. Sounded like a good idea. I wasn't sure if they would go for it, but I had to try, didn't I?  
>"Problem?" The other man inquired.<br>Jhon smiled in disbelief, looking to his friend for help, but Mike just kept smiling as he looked at the other man. Jhon turned to the younger man. "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."  
>And he didn't know anything about me, either. I wasn't sure about the other man, but he probably knew something about me if he was as smart as I was.<br>The other man looked closely at him for a moment before speaking. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."  
>Exactly like my theory, I thought just with some additions, that came from information I didn't have. I watched as Jhon looked down at his leg and cane and shuffled his feet awkwardly. The other man spoke again, smugly. "That's enough to be going on, don't you think?" He turned and walked to the door again, opening it and going through, but leaning back into the room. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street." He click-winked at Jhon before turning to Mike. "Afternoon."<br>I headed for the door and followed Sherlock out as Mike raised a finger in farewell to his friend.  
>"Sherlock?" I asked. He kept walking, but inclined his head to show he was listening. "Is there any chance I could stay with the two of you? I don't have anywhere to go beyond tonight and with our similarities, it probably wouldn't be as aggravating to live with you as it would be to live with some idiot. What do you say?"<br>"You know where and when we'll be meeting, I don't see why not, though I have some questions about you." Sherlock responded.  
>"I understand. And I have a few about you. I'll see you tomorrow." I replied before walking ahead of him and taking the elevator to the bottom floor and exiting the building. Hmm. Chances were good that he was the one who sent the text earlier at the conference, though I wasn't sure I could trust him just yet, but it would be nice to be around another genius for awhile. Even if it didn't pan out.<br>I headed towards a clearly abandoned house that I had stashed my bag in and was planning to stay for the night. The house was a large white house that was supposed to appear cheerful, but I would never look at it that way with what had happened when I lived here. Robert was a monster and had partially helped shape who I was. I couldn't believe that he'd left only a month ago. Something else I couldn't believe, was the fact that I still had some of the wounds he gave me. I knew I wouldn't be able to stay beyond one night. I didn't have the willpower or restraint.


	2. Chapter 2

When I woke up it was still dark out and I quickly got to my feet, grabbing my bag and hurrying out the door. My hair flew out behind me as I ran and I didn't stop for breath until I was near Baker Street. I stopped and took a small drink from the water bottle I had in my bag.  
>"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." I heard Jhon say as I rounded the corner on Baker Street. Him and Sherlock were standing in front of the adress they had sort of decided to meet.<br>The address was right by Speedy's Sandwhich Bar and Cafe and the street was just an ordinary looking street. Jhon was wearing black jeans, a black jacket with a gray sweater beneath it. His shoes were light brown and he of course had his cane with him, not that he needed it.  
>Sherlock was wearing the long coat from yesterday, along with a purple scarf. I could just barely see the white collar of the buttonup shirt beneath his scarf and around the edges of the coat he was wearing. He had black pants on and black shoes.<br>"Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." Sherlock explained.  
>"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"Jhon inquired. I tilted my head to the side as I quietly walked closer.<br>"Oh no. I ensured it." Sherlock smiled at John as the front door was opened by an elder woman, who opened her arms to the younger man. She was wearing a dark purple dress with some light brown slipper/sandals.  
>"Sherlock, hello." She said happily. I slowed a bit as I came to stand behind Jhon, exmining the front of the building. The walls were bright white and the door was green. There was a wrought iron gate next to it around a garden and the door had a silvercopper knocker on it.  
>Sherlock turned and walked into her arms, hugging her briefly, then stepped back and presented John to her.<br>"Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock introduced before looking to me. "And this is..."  
>I shifted my gaze to Mrs. Hudson and held my hand out. "River."<br>"Hello." Mrs. Hudson said, shaking my hand and greeting Jhon.  
>"How do?" Jhon said to her before turning to Sherlock. "You never said anything about her rooming with us or about knowing her. Why?"<br>I looked to Jhon. "Oh, we set it up after we left yesterday. Sorry, should've informed you. I won't be any trouble. I promise."  
>Mrs. Hudson gestured Jhon inside. "Come in."<br>"Thank you." Jhon said to Mrs. Hudson before speaking to me again. "What about your family?"  
>I felt my heart skip a beat in fear at the mention of family and frowned. Why would that be one of the first things he brought up? Could I not get a break?<br>"Shall we?" Sherlock inquired, motioning to the house. I turned and walked away from Jhon without answering.  
>The men went inside with me trailing behind and Mrs Hudson closed the door. Sherlock trotted up the stairs to the first floor, then paused and waited for John to hobble upstairs. I followed behind Jhon, now examining the interior of the building as well as anything else that interested me. The wall was light brown and had a print of leaves and stems in front of the door that Sherlock stopped at. This door was the same green as the front door, as I expected.<br>As John reached the top of the stairs, Sherlock opened the door ahead of him and walked in, revealing the living room of the flat. John followed him in and looked around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.  
>"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." Jhon said after a moment.<br>I stood behind him and looked at the cluttered mess. There was open drawers that had a few boxes and books in it, a stack of books in the corner beside a cardboard box with more items in it. There were also a few loose papers about and a music stand set up with some sheet music on it. There was a large trunk on a brown leather couch next to a brown cushion that had a violin and a bow resting against it. In front of the couch on the coffee table was another box that had a United Kingdom pillow on top with some more books and papers beside it.  
>There was a leather chair that matched the couch and a dresser full of books, and above the fireplace was a picture of an eagle with it's wings spread, beside that to the left was a human skull. And that was just a few of things in this room.<br>"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock said, breaking me from my thoughts as he looked around the flat happily. "So I went straight ahead and moved in."  
>Jhon spoke simultaneously with Sherlock's last words. "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh." Jhon paused embarrassed as he realized what Sherlock said. "So this is all...?"<br>I looked between the two with a curious expression, wondering how this would turn out though I felt a small flash of fear as I watched.  
>"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock said as he walked across the room and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece and then stabbed a multi tool knife into them.<br>John had noticed something else on the mantelpiece and lifted his cane to point at it. "That's a skull."  
>"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend' ..." Sherlock trailed off as Mrs. Hudson came into the room and picked up a cup and saucer as Sherlock removed his coat and scarf. I tilted my head at him curiously. Even more similarities between us.<br>"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms." Mrs, Hudson said and I looked at her in disbelief. Of course she thought that, I thought. She doesn't observe, like most people.  
>"Of course we'll be needing two." Jhon said before turning to me. "Wait, where are you going to sleep?"<br>"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here." Mrs. Hudson siad, confidentially dropping her voice to a whisper by the end of the sentence. "Mrs Turner next door's got married ones."  
>John looked across to Sherlock, expecting him to confirm that he and John were not involved in that way but Sherlock appeared oblivious to what was being insinuated, to my amusement. Mrs Hudson walked across to the kitchen, then turned back and frowned at Sherlock. "Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made."<br>As she went into the kitchen and started tidying up, John walked over to one of the two armchairs, plumped up a cushion on the chair and then dropped heavily down into it. He looked across to Sherlock who was still tidying up a little. I went over and sat on the floor near the door, setting my bag down beside me as I watched my two new flatmates.  
>"I looked you up on the internet last night." Jhon said. I chuckled softly. Of course he did.<br>Sherlock turned around to face him. "Anything interesting?"  
>"Found your website, The Science of Deduction." Jhon answered. I looked over to Sherlock before looking at the size of the couch. I would fit well enough, I thought without any doubt.<br>Sherlock's smile was proud. "What did you think?"  
>John threw him a "you have got to be kidding me" type of look and Sherlock looked hurt.<br>"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." Jhon said, disbelivingly.  
>I glared at him. "That is possible."<br>"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock said simultaneously with me.  
>"How?" Jhon asked. I was silent at his question. Didn't need them thinking I was a freak on the first day.<br>Sherlock smiled and turned away as Mrs Hudson came out of the kitchen reading the newspaper.  
>"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Mrs. Hudson said and I looked at Sherlock, trying ot determine if he was working this case as well.<br>Sherlock walked over to the window of the living room as the sound of a car pulling up outside sounded. "Four." He looked downwards as he spoke again. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."  
>"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson questioned as I quickly got to my feet.<br>Sherlock turned just as Lestrade trotted up the stairs and into the living room. Lestrade was wearing a plain black dress jacket, black pants to match, and a white button up beneath the jacket along with black shoes.  
>"Where?" Sherlock asked at the same time I did. I looked at him with an intrigued expression before returning my attention to the Detective Inspector.<br>"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Lestrade answered, looking at me strangely. I pretended to have been focused on something else. I should've kept quiet, I thought. I was only causing myself more harm this way.  
>"did you come from?" I finished, trying to salvage my situation.<br>"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." Sherlock said.  
>"You know how they never leave notes?" Lestrade asked, looking away from me and to Sherlock. I restrained myself from sighing as I stepped back, listening to the conversation.<br>"Yeah." Sherlock answered.  
>"This one did. Will you come?" Lestrade inquired. This just kept getting more interesting, I thought with a flash of excitement.<br>"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock requested. Why would that matter? I questioned before a sound answer popped into my head. There could be someone he doesn't like, probably because the person is incredibly stupid.  
>"It's Anderson." Lestrade told him.<br>"Anderson won't work with me." Sherlock said, grimacing. Then I was most likely right, I figured. Though I wasn't sure if I was looking forward to meeting this Anderson guy.  
>"Well, he won't be your assistant." Lestrade said a bit exasperated.<br>"I need an assistant." Sherlock said to the Inspector. I could be his assisstant, I thought. Though he probably wouldn't consider it. Most people didn't consider anything when it came to me.  
>"Will you come?" Lestrade repeated.<br>"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind." Sherlock answered. I smiled softly, completely agreeing with his statement.  
>"Thank you." Lestrade said, looking around at Jhon and Mrs. Hudson before looking at me strangely again for a moment before he turned ad hurried off down the stairs.<br>Sherlock waited until the Inspector had reached the front door, then leapt into the air and clenched his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily. "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"  
>Picking up his scarf and coat he started to put them on as he headed for the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."<br>I watched him with curious eyes and a small smile. Just another similarity, only I didn't shout it to the world. I'd learned not to do anything to attract attention. I learned how to be invisible.  
>"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson replied to Sherlock.<br>"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock said, ignoring Mrs. Hudson as he grabbed a small leather puch from the kitchen table before opening the the kitchen door and disappearing from view. I frowned and sat down beside the front door again.  
>Mrs. Hudson turned back to Jhon. "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same." I shook my head at Mrs. Hudson's statement as John grimaced at her repeated implication that he and Sherlock were an item. "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell."<br>At this comment John looked uncomfortable. Though I didn't see why he would take offense to a true statement. He may like danger, but with his psychosomatic limp how would he deal with any of it?  
>Mrs. Hudson turned towards the door. "I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."<br>"Damn my leg!" Jhon said loudly, making me jump slightly. I glared as I stood up and walked over to put my bag on the couch.  
>His response was instinctive and he immediately apologised as Mrs Hudson turned back to him in shock, but I was still annoyed.<br>"Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing ..." Jhon bashed his leg with his cane.  
>"I understand, dear; I've got a hip." Mrs. Hudson as she turned towards the door again.<br>"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you." Jhon called. I looked at him with a disbelievingly look. He just got here and he's already treating the landlady like a housekeeper.  
>"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson called.<br>"Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em." Jhon called back and I sighed in exasperation and sat in front of the couch.  
>"Not your housekeeper!" Mrs. Hudson repeated.<br>John picked up the newspaper which Mrs Hudson put down a moment ago and he started to read.  
>"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor." Sherlock's voice said and Jhon looked up as I looked back to see Sherlock. What was the point in leaving if he was just going to come back to state the obvious? Unless...<br>"Yes." Jhon answered getting to his feet and turnign towards Sherlock as he came into the room again.  
>"Any good?" Sherlock inquired and I stood up and leaned against the wall.<br>"Very good." Jhon answered softly. Someone's rather smug, I thought.  
>"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths." Sherlock stated. I closed my eyes at his words, keeping my face composed in an expressionless mask.<br>"Mmm, yes." Jhon answered, no trace of regret in his voice.  
>"Bit of trouble too, I bet." Sherlock again stated. I opened my eyes and looked over at the two men.<br>"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." Jhon said quietly. I thought that was obvious, considering he's in the military. Sherlock knew that as well, so what's he planning? I wondered. Well, he did say he needed an assisstant.  
>"Wanna see some more?" Sherlock inquired.<br>"Oh God, yes." Jhon said fervently.  
>I sighed and stood up straight. "Can I come?" My voice came out with the slightest of nervousness as I wasn't used to asking things of those I lived with. I knew that Sherlock would definitely notice though Jhon probably wouldn't.<br>Jhon spun around to face me. "You're like fifteen!" He protested.  
>"I'm sixteen and I could probably help." I answered calmly, looking to Sherlock. "May I?"<br>Sherlock nodded slightly before spinning on his heel and leading Jhon and I out of the room and down the stairs.  
>John called out as he followed him down. "Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out."<br>Mrs. Hudson was standing near the bottom of the stairs when she spoke. "Both of you?"  
>Sherlock had almost reached the front door but now turned and walked back towards her. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He took her by the shoulders and kissed her noisily on the cheek.<br>"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She said though she couldn't help but smile as he turned away and headed for the front door again. "Wait is River going with you as well?"  
>"Of course." I answered, walking behind Sherlock.<br>"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" Sherlock said, walking out onto the street and hailed an approaching black cab. "Taxi!"  
>The taxi pulled up alongside and Sherlock, John, and I got in, then the car drove off again and headed for Brixton. We sat in silence for a long time while Sherlock sat with his eyes fixed on his smartphone and John kept stealing nervous glances at him. I leaned comfortably back against the seat as I waited to hear the questions Jhon most definitely had.<br>Finally Sherlock lowered his phone. "Okay, you've got questions."  
>"Yeah, where are we going?" Jhon asked. I looked at him strangely. Couldn't he at least figure that one out?<br>"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock answered.  
>"Who are you? What do you do?" Jhon asked. Well, that's a decent question at least though he could probably figure it out on his own.<br>"What do you think?"Sherlock questioned.  
>"I'd say private detective ..." Jhon said slowly and hesitantly.<br>"But?" Sherlock prompted.  
>"... but the police don't go to private detectives." Jhon finished.<br>"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Sherlock told him. So he helps the police on a regular basis, then.  
>"What does that mean?" Jhon asked. I rolled my eyes at him. Was he always going to be like this?<br>"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock explained. Totally agreed with him there.  
>"The police don't consult amateurs." Jhon said.<br>Sherlock threw him a look and I glared at him with disbelief. In what world was Sherlock an amateur? Did he pay attention to anythind?  
>"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised." Sherlock started.<br>"Yes, how did you know?" Jhon inquired, looking to Sherlock.  
>"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock loudly clicked the 'k' sound at the end of the final word.<br>"You said I had a therapist." Jhon stated.  
>"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother." Sherlock said. I stayed quiet and listened to the conversation. This was the first I was hearing about a brother.<br>"Hmm?" Jhon questioned, obviously confused.  
>"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." Sherlock said holding his hand out. Jhon handed him the phone and Sherlock turned it over and looked at it again while he spoke. I leaned over to look as well there were scratches on it. Keys and coins, I thought. And the engraving.<br>Harry Watson  
>From Clara<br>xxx  
>"Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already." Sherlock said, pausing.<br>"The engraving." Jhon concluded.  
>"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking." Sherlock continued with his deduction of Jhon. I knew he was like me, maybe even better or at least tied.<br>"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" Jhon demanded.  
>Sherlock smiled. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." He handed the phone back to Jhon. "There you go, you see – you were right."<br>"I was right? Right about what?" Jhon asked, stupified.  
>"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock explained. I looked over at him as he looked out of the side window, biting his lip nervously as he waited for Jhon's reaction.<br>"That ... was amazing." Jhon said after a moment of silence, causing me to look over. That wasn't usually what people thought and he didn't even know about me.  
>Sherlock looked round, apparently so surprised that he couldn't even reply for the next four seconds. Just another similarity. "Do you think so?"<br>"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." Jhon answered, amazement in his voice. I blinked in shock.  
>"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock replied as I looked out my window.<br>"What do people normally say?" Jhon inquired. I shook my head. He really thought that Sherlock's talent was impressive? Would he think the same if he found out about mine?  
>"'Piss off'!" Sherlock smiled at Jhon who grinned a bit before looking out the window that I was looking out of. I closed my eyes as I debated over the concept. I shook my head, I'd tried that before and lived to regret it. I brushed away a tear that fell, pretending to brush some of my hair out of my face.<br>"So you never answered my question earlier." Jhon stated, obviously talking to me.  
>I sighed and looked around to face him after I was sure that there were no more tears. "About my family?" I checked. Jhon nodded. "Never had one really."<br>Jhon frowned. "Did something happen to them?"  
>"I'm not going to tell you my whole life story until I know I can trust you completely." I replied. "But I can tell you that I have no idea where my real parents are or who they are and any imitation of a family I had was a lie."<br>When I finished talking I turned to look out the window again.  
>"So, you're an orphan?" Jhon asked.<br>I sighed. "Yes, that is what I am."  
>"And you never went to a foster home?" He inquired.<br>I turned to look at him again and noticed that Serlock was now watching us. "Would you rather I did?"  
>Jhon frowned. "I'm not saying you should leave. I was just curious. It seems like it would have been logical for you."<br>"Logical to go live somewhere where people pretend to love you so they can get paid?" I questioned with disbelief. "I wouldn't have survived because they would have put me with the worst possible people because I was too strange and it was just better that way. I did that once, don't care to do it again." I turned back to looking out the window and waited to see if Jhon was going to ask anymore questions. I sighed softly when he didn't say anything. Great, I thought. You just had to mention how different and worthless you are. And of course he would accept everyone else, except for you.


	3. Chapter 3

When the cab arrived at Lauriston Gardens Sherlock, Jhon, and I got out of the cab and walked towards the police tape strung out across the road. The scene had a bunch of police officers running around and a few police cars parked. Nothing that interesting on the outside.  
>"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked Jhon as we walked. I looked straight ahead as I started shutting down my emotions so I could focus on the job at hand.<br>"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker." Jhon replied to Sherlock.  
>"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Sherlock said, sounding impressed with himself. I walked a bit faster as we neared the crime scene, already surveying the area. No signs of a crime except for the police tape and police officers. The street was dirty as was to be expected with a place as abandoned as this.<br>"And Harry is short for Harriet." Jhon continued after a moment.  
>Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "Harry's your sister."<br>I looked over at the two of them, also stopping.  
>"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" Jhon aske, continuing onwards.<br>I watched calmly as Sherlock spoke furiously through gritted teeth. "Sister!"  
>"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" Jhon repeated.<br>"There's always something/" Sherlock said, exasperated as he started to walk again.  
>I fell into step with him when he got to me. "If it makes you feel any better I didn't know about the relative until you said something."<br>"That's because you didn't get a close enough look at his phone until I mentioned it in the cab." Sherlock replied as we came to a stop in front of the police tape where the Seargent lady from earlier came to meet us. She was now wearing a grey jacket over a short black dress and a pair of ugly heels.  
>"Hello, freak." She greeted. I instantly didn't like her though I kept my face composed as I stood by Sherlock. She wasn't exactly professional was she? Probably one of those popular girls in school that always made fun of the people who were different. Either that or her mother was. She obviously was aquainted with Sherlock as I deduced earlier and she had a late night the night previous. Her knees had slight red marks on it so she was on the floor on her knees, but there was no reason for her to be out and about for her job so conclusion was she was with a lover. Who that was I wasn'y quite sure though I didn't really care either.<br>"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock stated, ignoring her earlier statement.  
>"Why?" The Seargent demanded. Was she always like this? I wondered as I looked at the scene behind her. She didn't even seem to have noticed me.<br>"I was invited." Sherlock responded.  
>"Why?" She repeated. Did she need everything spelled out for her? I thought looking back at her with an annoyed expression.<br>"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock replied sarcastically. I sighed in agitation as I waited to get to examining the scene, instead of standing in the cold. I rubbed my arms as I had forgotten my jacket as I had replaced it with a dark red overshirt - that was thin though it was longsleeved - before I went to bed the night before.  
>"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" The woman asked Sherlock.<br>Sherlock lifted the tape and ducked underneath it. "Always, Sally." He took a breath through his nose as he passed her. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."  
>I frowned slightly and smelled the air subtly, wondering what was significant to him about how she smelled.<br>"I don't..." Sally trailed off and looked at Jhon and I. "Who're they?"  
>"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson." Sherlock said before turning to Jhon. "Doctor Watson, Sally Donovan. Old friend." His voice dripped with sarcasm on the last two words.<br>"Colleague? How do you get a colleague?!" Sally demanded before turning to Jhon. "Did he follow you home?"  
>"Would it be better if I just waited and..." Jhon started.<br>Sherlock interrupted, lifting the tape for him. "No."  
>Sally looked at me. "And what about the girl? She your prostitute? You into fifteen year olds?"<br>I suppressed a glare as I looked at Sally. "I'm sixteen. And you obviously need to get your eyes checked because this.." I motioned to my outfit. "..is not something a prostitute would wear."  
>Sherlock waited till I was done talking before he jumped in. "She'll be helping me with examining the crime scene. I've spoken to Lestrade about it."<br>As Jhon and I ducked under the tape, Sally spoke into her radio. " Freak's here. Bringing him in."  
>She lead us up to the house and I watched as Sherlock looked around the area and at the ground as we walked. As we reached the house a man came out of the house, wearing a coverall. The front of the house was a dull, faded white. Nothing special.<br>"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock said to the man. So this was Anderson. He had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and I could see the collar of a light blue button up peeking out of the coverall.  
>Anderson looked to Sherlock with distaste. "it's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"<br>Sherlock took a deep breath in through his nose. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"  
>"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Anderson snapped. I tilted my head to the side and took a small breath through my nose. Well, I guess Donovan's not the only one who had a late night.<br>"Your deodorant told me that." Sherlock replied. I looked up at Sherlock before looking at Anderson again.  
>"My deodorant?" Anderson questioned, confused.<br>"It's for men. " Sherlock said, simultaneously with me.  
>Anderson glanced at me for a moment before speaking. "Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"<br>"So's Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock said. I smiled slightly at the expression of shock on Anderson's face as he looked around at Donovan.  
>Sherlock sniffed pointedly. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. May I go in?"<br>Anderson turned back to Sherlock, pointing at him angrily. "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply..."  
>"I'm not implying anything." Sherlock said as he headed past Donovan to the front door with me following. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." He said before turning back to them. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."<br>Sherlock smiled smugly as Anderson and Donovan stared at him in horror before he turned and headed into the house. I smiled at the two before I turned and followed Sherlock.  
>Sherlock led me and Jhon into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade was putting on some coveralls.<br>Sherlock pointed to a pile of similar items. "You need to wear one of these."  
>I gave him a pointed look before grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on before looking to Lestrade. I was not going to wear one of those stupid outfits when it was unecessary for me inside of the house was a little fancy with the chandlier and long red curtains, the staircase had an elegant looking staircase you expect to see in the movies with the fancy ballroom. The only thing that marred the elegance of the place, besides the obviousness that the place had been abandoned, was all the chemicals and equimpent the forensics team was using.<br>"Who are they?" Lestrade asked, looking at Jhon and me.  
>"They're with me." Sherlock replied, taking off his gloves.<br>"But who are they? And should you really be showing a dead body to a little girl?" He repeated.  
>"I've seen dead bodies before." I replied before going silent again.<br>"I said they're with me." Sherlock repeated. I looked over at Jhon who had taken off his jacket and picked up a coverall. He stared as Sherlock picked up a pair of latex gloves as I had.  
>"Aren't you guys going to put one on?" He inquired. Sherlock gave him a sten look and I gave him a look of 'are you serious?'. Jhon shook his head as if to say 'Silly me. What was I thinking?!'.<br>"So where are we?" Sherlock asked Lestrade. I stood beside Sherlock as I waited for Lestrade's answer.  
>"Upstairs." Lestrade said as he picked up another pair of latex gloves. As we went upstairs Sherlock put the latex gloves he had grabbed on as Lestrade continued speaking "I can give you two minutes."<br>"May need longer." Sherlock said casually as we walked.  
>"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade informed us as he led us into a room two storeys above the ground floor. The room was devoid of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency lighting had been set up by the police and some scaffolding poles held up part of the ceiling where a few holes had been knocked through the wall. Jennifer Wilson's body was lying facedown on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She was wearing a bright pink coat that matched her pink high-heels and nailpolish and her hands were flat on the floor on either side of her blonde head.<br>Sherlock walked a few steps into the room and then stopped, holding a hand out in front of him as he focused on the corpse. I walked forward so I was standing a step behind Sherlock and to the side as I also examined the body.  
>After several seconds Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "Shut up."<br>"I didn't say anything." Lestrade said, startled. I shook my head and returned my attention to the corpse, walking forward and crouching beside it.  
>"You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock said and I tilted my head as I realized what he was talking about. Very true. It is annoying. Sherlock stepped forward until he was beside the corpse on the side opposite me.<br>I looked at the word that had been scratched into the floorboard beside the woman's left hand. 'Rache'. I looked at her fingernails to see that the nails on her index and middle fingers were broken and ragged at the end with the nail polish was chipped. It was stark in comparison to her other nails which were still immaculate. Her index finger rested below the 'e' as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died. She was left - handed. I looked back at the word carved into the floor and thought about what it could mean. The immediate suggestion was that it was German. Rache in German meant revenge. I narrowed my eyes as I quickly dismissed the suggestion. It didn't feel right. I foused on the word and quickly began seeeing what else she could have been trying to spell. I tilted my head to the side as the spelling became Rachel. That seemed a bit more likely.  
>My attention turned to Sherlock for a moment as he squatted down beside her body and ran his gloved hand along the back of her coat before lifting his hand and looking at his fingers. They were wet. So she was in the rain, except it wasn't raining last night, so she came from somewhere else. Sherlock reached into her coat pockets and found a white fold up umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he inspected his gloved fingers again. The umbrella was dry. So she didn't use ? A woman like her wouldn't want to get her hair all wet. Everything about her appearance had to be perfect.<br>Sherlock put the umbrella back into her pocket and ran his fingers underneath the collar of her coat before once again looking at his fingers. Wet. I watched as he pulled a small magnifier out of his pocket, clicked it open before inspecting the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist, making sure I could see the results as well after I moved out of his way so he could get a better angle. It was clean. When I nodded at him he moved to the gold earring she was wearing on her left ear. It was also clean. Upon my nod, moved the magnifier to examine the gold chain around her neck. Clean. I nodded again and he moved it so we could examine the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring were dirty. So she was married and aparently not happily. And for ten years.  
>Carefully Sherlock worked the wedding ring off her finger and held it up to look at the inside of the ring. The inside of the ring was clean. As Sherlock lowered the ring and slid it back onto the woman's finger, I had already reached the conclusion that it was regularly removed as I was sure he had as well. I stood up, reaching my final deduction of the woman. She was a serial adulterer. I saw Sherlock smile slightly in satisfaction.<br>"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.  
>"Not much." Sherlock said nonchalantly as he stood, taking his loves off and pulling out his mobile phone, beginning to type on it.<br>"She's German." Anderson said form where he was casually leaning against the doorframe. "Rache: it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something..."  
>As Anderson spoke Sherlock walked quickly over to the door and proceeded to start closing it in Anderson's face. "Yes, thank you for your input." He said sarcastically. He slammed the door shut and walked back into the room, standing beside me and showing me what he was looking up on his phone. He had a menu called "UK Weather". The menu offered the options of Maps, Local, Warnings, Next 24 hours, and 7 day forecast. He selected the Maps option.<br>"So, she's German?" Lestrade questioned. I kept my attention on Sherlock's phone.  
>Sherlock seemed to have the same idea as me. "Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night..." He smiled smugly as he found the information he was looking for that just supported our theory. "...before returning home to Cardiff." He pocketed his phone and I looked up as Sherlock continued. "So far, so obvious."<br>"Sorry - obvious?" Jhon asked. I shook my head at him. Yes, it was obvious, I thought.  
>"What about the message, though?" Lestrade inquired.<br>Sherlock ignored Lestrade and turned to Jhon. "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"  
>"Of the message?" Jhon questioned. I sighed and looked at the floor before looking back up at him. Well, I suppose he's not as stupid as several other people.<br>"Of the body. You're a medical man." Sherlock clarified for him.  
>"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside." Lestrade protested, turning towards the door.<br>"They won't work with me." Sherlock replied. Yes, with their hostility thus far, I didn't blame him for not trusting them. he would wind up having to do everything all over again so he knew they weren't lying to him about anything for a laugh.  
>"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here." Lestrade snapped.<br>"Yes...because you need me." Sherlock reminded him.  
>Lestrade stared at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes helplessly. "Yes, I do. God help me."<br>Sherlock turned to Jhon. "Doctor Watson."  
>"Hm?" Jhon said, looking up from the body to Sherlock before looking to Lestrade, asking for permission.<br>"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." Lestrade said snappily before turning, opening the door and going outside. I watched him leave before returning my attention to Sherlock and Jhon.  
>Sherlock, Jhon, and I walked over to the body. Sherlock squatted down beside it on the right side and I knelt down near the woman's head while Jhon painfully lowered himself to one knee on the left side of the corpse, using his cane to help support him.<br>"Well?" Sherlock asked.  
>"What am I doing here?" Jhon asked softly. I looked over at Sherlock. I'd been wondering that myself. It didn't make sense to ask Jhon to come with him when I was just as intellectual as him and yet he asked Jhon to assisst him.<br>"Helping me make a point." Sherlock answered in the same tone. Oh, I realized. Smart.  
>"I'm supposed to be helping you pay rent." Jhon protested, still in whipsered tones.<br>"Yeah, well, this is more fun." Sherlock said in response. Agreed.  
>"Fun? There's a woman lying dead." Jhon scolded.<br>"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock said, as Lestrade came back into the room and just stood in the doorway.  
>Jhon lowered his other leg so he was in a kneeling position before he leaned forward to look more closely at the corpse. He put his head closer to hers, sniffed, then straightened up a little before lifting her right had and looking at the skin. He sat up and looked across to Sherlock. "Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."<br>"You know what it was. You've read the papers." Sherlock told him. I barely heard him as I felt my eyes drawn to the woman's face. She looked so much like Her. I could barely focus on anything anymore as memories filled my eyes.  
>I was jerked out of my thoughts when Jhon bumped me as he was getting up. Sherlock was already on his feet and Lestrade was looking at us with a bit of anger in his features.<br>"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock told Lestrade. I nodded and got to my feet, quickly as Lestrade stared at me strangely.  
>"Suitcase?" Lestrade wondered.<br>Sherlock sighed and looked to me. "I think River might be able to fill in the blanks for what I missed."  
>I looked at Sherlock, confused for a moment since he had seen everything I had and then I realized he was testing me to see if I was really the same as him. I nodded and turned to Lestrade and Jhon. "Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."<br>"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..." Lestrade started.  
>I interrupted him, pointing at the woman's left hand. "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? "<br>Sherlock took over from there. "Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."  
>"That's brilliant." Jhon said, admiringly. Was he talking about both of us or just Sherlock? I wondered, looking at him as Sherlock did. "Sorry." Jhon said afterward apoligetically.<br>"Cardiff?" Lestrade wondered.  
>"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock said, a bit of excitement in his voice.<br>"It's not obvious to me." Jhon said softly.  
>Sherlock paused and looked at the other two. "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." He turned back to the body. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. "<br>"We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. " I added as I brushed my hair out of my face.  
>"So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" Sherlock got his phone out and showed to the other two the website we were looking at earlier, displaying today's weather report for the southern part of Britain. "Cardiff."<br>"That's fantastic!" Jhon exclaimed.  
>Sherlock turned to him, speaking in a low voice that I only heard because I was right beside him. "D'you know you do that out loud?"<br>"Sorry. I'll shut up." Jhon said in a low voice as well.  
>"No, it's...fine." Sherlock said softly. I frowned and turned away when I realized that Jhon was most likely just talking about Sherlock. I doubt he even noticed what I had to say. But then again, who would? I should just be grateful I hadn't been beat for showing off like that.<br>"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked and I turned to him.  
>" Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is." Sherlock said, spinning around in a circle to look around the room.<br>"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Lestrade inquired. I rolled my eyes and moved to stand by the door.  
>"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" Sherlock said sarcastically.<br>"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade questioned. I watched him for a moment. Was he implying that Sherlock was the killer? "And is that girl like you?"  
>Sherlock pointed to the body, where her tights had small black splotches on the back of her right leg. " Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night."<br>He squatted down beside the woman's body to get a closer look at the back of her legs, ignoring the second question of Lestrade's. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"  
>"There wasn't a case." Lestrade said. I looked over at him, startled. Then that means...<br>Slowly Sherlock raised his head and frowned up at Lestrade. "Say that again."  
>"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Lestrade repeated. That can't be right, I thought.<br>Immediately Sherlock straightened up and headed for the door, calling out to all the police officers in the house as he began to hurry down the stairs. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"  
>Lestrade and Jhon followed him and after a moment of being by myself in silence I followed after, but instead of stopping on the landing I went down the stairs towards where Sherlock was standing. Lestrade called down the stairs. " Sherlock, there was no case!"<br>Sherlock slowed down though he was still making his way down the stairs. "But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."  
>"Right, yeah, thanks! And ...?" Lestrade called down. I rolled my eyes as I caught up to Sherlock. Wasn't it obvious?<br>"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings." Sherlock held his hands up in front of his face in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."  
>"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade called. I sighed and looked up at Lestrade.<br>Sherlock stopped and called up to the others. "Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case. " His voice lowered, as if he were talking to himself. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."  
>"Right." I replied, trying to help him out.<br>"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." Jhon suggested. Not too bad, I thought. It's still wrong, but not bad.  
>Sherlock looked back up at the others. "No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." He stopped talking as he realized the same thing as I did. "Oh." His eyes widened and his face lit up. "Oh!" He clapped his hands in delight.<br>"Sherlock?" Jhon called.  
>"What is it, what?" Lestrade called, leaning over the railing.<br>"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock said smiling cheerfully to himself.  
>"We can't just wait!" Lestrade yelled. I shook my head as a smile creeped onto my face.<br>"Oh, we're done waiting!" Sherlock called up as we started down the stairs again. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" We reached the bottom of the stairs.  
>"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade called.<br>Sherlock and I turned back and ran up a few steps so we could be seen before calling up to him. "PINK! " After that we hurried off again.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey. If you guys come up with something you'd like to see in this fanfiction, feel free to post suggestions and I will try to get them in. Just no Jhonlocks, please. That's not the type of things I write.


	5. Chapter 5

After we had left the crime scene and were out of sight of the police, Sherlock turned to me. "You froze up for a moment back there. Why?" I looked up at him as we walked. "I just got lost in thought." I said, making sure my voice was completely sincere. I knew he'd see through the lie but I also knew he would know it meant I didn't want to talk about it and was hoping he'd leave it be. "Now, you said you had questions." "Shall I start by telling you what I already know?" He inquired before he hailed a passing cab. "Taxi!" I was silent for a moment before I nodded as the cab pulled up beside us. I climbed in as Sherlock held the door open for me, sliding over to the window. "Be my guest." Sherlock slid in beside me and closed the door. As the cab started moving, he began telling speaking. "Let's start with the simple things. You're curious. Curious enough that you were willing to talk to me about staying with me and Jhon at the flat though you're generally scared of men, probably because of the family you spoke about earlier. You quite clearly said you lived in a foster home where you were abused. Obviously by a male. You try to be invisible but at the same time find yourself wanting to correct every wrong comment because you can't stand the way no one seems to notice the obvious. That's why you're helping with this case. Scotland Yard was getting it all wrong so you decided to step in and once you did it was inevitable that you would meet me. You were also the one who was tracking the text I sent. You're nervous when you ask questions though you've learned how to hide it. For the most part. You don't trust people easily. Even when you can see that they don't mean you any harm and don't have any intentions of decieving you. Yet you don't seem to hold that much, if any, mistrust towards me. My first question is: Why have you placed your trust in me so quickly? I assume it's partly because I am similar to you in intellect. You probably haven't found anyone that wasn't oblivious. My second question is: What were you doing at Bart's Lab yesterday?" I stared at him with a blank expression for a moment. "You're right. On everything. I don't know why I trust you so much, but the reasons you suggested are part of it, though not all of it. And I was examining the bodies of the four people who committed suicide yesterday. It was a dead end." Sherlock looked at me for a moment. "I didn't expect to get everything right. And yet you expected that I would." I nodded. "You seemed either more clever than I am or you were at least tied with my intellect. I figured there wouldn't be anything I could hide from you. Just like there's nothing or little that you can hide from me." I murmured, looking out the window with my last words. "I don't think we need to get into your past at the moment though." "No, we don't." Sherlock said as we pulled up to Baker Street. "This is your stop." "Why are you leaving me here?" I questioned, turning to him. "I won't slow you down. You know that." "Yes, I do, but I need you to get to work on piecing things together while I find the suitcase." Sherlock answered, turning to look out the window. "I should be back within the hour." I nodded and opened the cab door, stepping out into the cool air before turning back to Sherlock. "Thank you." With that said I closed the cab door and turned to go back up to the flat. I made sure to be quiet in case Mrs. Hudson were sleeping and was soon in the living room of my new temporary home. I sighed and sat down on the floor by my bag again, pulling my phone out and pulling up all the information that the police had found by hacking into their computers. When I finished going through the relevant information, I hadn't come to any different conclusion than I had earlier. Had to wait for Sherlock to come back with the case. Which he should be back shortly, I thought as I realized I had been at this for almost half an hour. I looked over at the door as Sherlock came in with the case and set it down on the coffee table, opening it and rifling through the contents. I stood and pocketed my phone, going over to look with him. "Her phone's missing." I murmured. She must have left it in the car, the killer was driving so the killer had her phone. That was tremendously helpful, I thought looking up at Sherlock as he cleared the couch and layed down, putting three nicotine patches on his arm before texting someone, probably Jhon who had yet to show up here. I sat down beside the couch and pulled out a sketchbook and some pencils as Sherlock waited for a reply before sending another text when Jhon was too long in answering. I opened the book to a blank page and began sketching the outline of a cemetery with stone angels scattered around it. I let myself get lost in drawing the shapes of the tombstones, the feathers of the wings that looked almost lifelike but were still obviously stone if you looked close enough. A wrought iron gate about twelve feet high with an intricate design on the front. The gates were open and were looking down on the cemetery. From there my hand seemed to take control rather than my mind. It drew the shadows of the angels as frightening creatures. Blood seemed to flow through the maze of headstones and the shadows seemed to come to life, turning the peaceful picture I had meant to draw into one of horror as most of the pictures I tried to draw became. I leaned my head against the couch and closed my eyes. Soon I was dreaming. (Sorry that this chapter is so short and such a lame ending. I didn't really want to write the next part and it would be difficult to explain why, but please forgive me. And I will try to make the next chapter longer and better, but I'm not sure when I'll post.) 


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for posting the same chapter. I didn't even realize that I'd done that. I'm working on the next part and this time it actually will be the next part. So sorry. 


	7. Chapter 7

I woke up to find that Sherlock and Jhon had left and I sighed, leaning back against the couch for a moment before standing and heading out the door after I grabbed my phone.

I texted Sherlock, asking him to send me the adress of where they were. After a minute I got a response just as I had stepped out onto the sidewalk. I smiled and broke into a run as I headed for where they were. When I was close I slowed to a walk and calmly entered the diner they were in. I slid into the seat beside Sherlock as I pocketed my phone.

The diner was a small, glossy place. It had a light color to it and was probably one of the better restaurants.

"I'm not his date!" Jhon called indignantly as a man walked away from the table we were at. I tilted my head to the side as I looked at Jhon before just shaking my head.

Sherlock handed me his menu before speaking. "You may as well eat. We might have z long wait."

I looked at Sherlock for a moment, trying to keep the shock off of my face. I wasn't used to being fed regularly. Usually I waited till I was literally starving, just so I didn't have to inconveniance anyone. I quickly looked away from Sherlock when Angelo, according to his name tag came back, setting a crystal bowl with a lit tea-light in it on the table before giving Jhon a thumbs up before leaving again.

"Thanks!" Jhon said, a little angrily. I shook my head at him before looking over the menu Sherlock had given me.

Later I had chosen some pasta with some water, and was eating, along with Jhon. Sherlock had his attention fixed out the window and was quietly drumming his fingers on the table.

"People don't have arch-enemies." Jhon said, suddenly. I was quiet as I continued eating.

After a moment Sherlock looked to Jhon. "I'm sorry?"

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies." Jhon repeated. "Doesn't happen."

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull." Sherlock said disinterestedly as he looked back out the window.

"So who did I meet?" Jhon inquired. I listened closer with interest as I finished my meal.

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?" Sherlock ignored Jhon's question and I frowned. Obviously whoever Jhon was talking about Sherlock didn't like or liked too much and didn't want to share. I had a feeling it wasn't the latter.

"Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don't like...Girlfriends, boyfriends..." Jhon answered.

"Yes, well, as I was saying-dull." Sherlock murmured.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" Jhon queried.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." Sherlock replied, still looking out the window. I sighed and looked out the window as well, wondering what was so interesting to him.

"Mm." Jhon said. A moment passed before he spoke again. "Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?" Sherlock looked over at him sharply. "Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine." Sherlock told him.

I looked over at Jhon to see him smile to show he didn't mean anything negative by what he had said.

"So, you've got a boyfriend, then?" Jhon questioned again.

"No." Sherlock answered. I watched as Jhon's expression became fixed and awkward.

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me." Jhon looked down to his plate. "Fine. Good." He continued eating.

Sherlock looked at him in suspicion for a moment before returning his attention to looking out the window again. As I watched him, he seemed to be replaying Jhon's statement in his head and his expression became slightly startled. He turned to Jhon again. "Jhon, um...I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any..." As Sherlock spoke his tone was awkward and he sped up until he was almost babbling by the time Jhon interrupted him.

"No." Jhon turned his head breifly to clear his throat. "No. I'm not asking. No." Jhon fixed his gaze to Sherlock's, apparently trying to convey his sincerity. "I'm just saying, it's all fine."

Sherlock looked at him for a moment before nodding. "Good. Thank you." He turned his attention back to the street. After a moment Sherlock nodded out the window. "Look across the street. Taxi."

I followed his gaze.

Jhon twisted to look out the window at the taxi that had parked with it's rear end facing the restaurant.

"Stopped. Nobody getting in and nobody getting out." Sherlock murmured. I turned away from the window as I realized that the passenger in the taxi was looking out the rear window as if looking for sombody particular. I quickly slid out of my seat and waited to see if I would need to go deal with whoever was in the taxi.

"Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?" Sherlock spoke to himself.

"That's him." Jhon inquired.

"Don't stare." Sherlock told him.

Jhon turned to Sherlock. "You're staring."

"We can't both stare." Sherlock said. He got to his feet, grabbing his coat and scarf before heading for the door. I followed after him. Once outside Sherlock pulled on his jacket, while still keeping his eyes on the taxi and I realized that I had once again forgotten to grab a jacket, but I sighed and just decided to deal with it.

The passenger continued to look around, then turned and looked out the back window. His gaze fell on the restaurant for a moment while Sherlock stared back at him, then the man turned to face the front and the taxi pulled away from the kerb.

Sherlock immediately headed for it, not bothering to check for cars and he was almost run over. The driver slammed on his breaks and stopped the car. I watched as Sherlock allowed his impetus to carry him onto the top of the cars hood before he rolled off, landing in his feet before he ran off after the taxi. After Jhon got out of the restaurant I took off after Sherlock, nearly getting hit by a few cars myself, but I managed to dodge after I had calculated the speed they were moving at. I caught up to Sherlock as he came to a halt, probably realizing he wasn't going to catch the taxi like this.

As Jhon caught up he spoke. "I've got the cab number."

"Good for you." Sherlock told him before he brought his hands to his head, concentrating. I waited to see what he came up with. "Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights." I watched as he lifted his head and I saw a man unlocking a nearby building. Sherlock raced over to the man and grabbed him, shoving him out of the way before entering the building. I hurried after him as the man made a sound of protest, Jhon was right behind me. The three of us raced up the stairs and out onto a spiral metal fire escape staircase leading to the roof.

Sherlock took the stairs three steps at a time. I managed two, but Jhon was struggling to keep up.

"Come on, Jhon." Sherlock called. Reaching the top of the stairs, Sherlock ran over to the ledge and looked down. I peered over and saw a shorter spiral staircase leading down the building to another door that was one floor lower. Sherlock hurried down the stairs with me following and he climbed onto the railing before leaping across the gap to the next building. I sped to a halt as I looked across, unsure if I could make it. I quickly calculated the speed I would have to reach and the amount of strength that would have to go into my jump and then when I would have to jump. I might be able to make it. I backed up a bit and ran towards the railing, leaping up onto it before jumping towards the building. I landed on the ledge in a crouch with one of my legs, dangling over the edge. It took me half a second to regain my balance before I bolted after Sherlock. I watched as Sherlock jumped over to the other building the same way he had jumped onto the one I was on. This gap was larger than the last and I realized I wouldn't be able to make it.

"Come on, River." Sherlock called. "I'll catch you."

Hearing his words I sped up and leapt for the building, my hands completely missing the edge as I began to fall, but Sherlock had leaned down and caught me by my wrists. He helped pull me up onto the building and I watched as Jhon halted when he reached the gap.

"Come on, Jhon. We're losing him!" Sherlock called. I backed up so I wouldn't be in Jhon's way.

Jhon backed up a few paces and took a run-up, before leaping and making it across the gap. Dropping down onto a walkway along the side of the building we ran onwards. Sherlock led us down another metal staircase then to a ledge where we dropped down into an alleyway before we were running again. Sherlock turned the corner, racing to the end of the alley with me close behind him and I saw the taxi pass by in front of us, going left.

"Ah, no!" Sherlock cried and without breaking stride he led me to the end of the alleyway and turned right. "This way."

Jhon instinctively went left after the taxi.

"No, this way!" Sherlock cried.

"Sorry." Jhon said, heading back towards us.

We ran down the street and headed through some more alleyways and side streets and soon Sherlock bolted out of a side street and hurled himself into the street before he crashed into the hood of the taxi as it came to a halt. I came to a stop beside Sherlock, holding my side as I gasped for air.

"Police! Open her up!" Sherlock cried before he tugged open the rear door, panting heavily as he stared at the passenger.

Sherlock straightened up in exasperation as Jhon caught up. "No." He leaned down again to look at the passenger again. "Teeth, tan: what-Californian?" I nodded as I glanced at the passenger and Sherlock continued speaking. "L.A, Santa Monica. Just arrived." Sherlock straightened again with a grimace.

"How can you possibly know that?" Jhon asked.

I turned to him. "The luggage."

Sherlock spoke to the passenger. "It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?"

"Sorry - are you guys the police?" The passenger asked.

"Yeah." Sherlock said, flashing the I.D. badge to the the man briefly. "Everything all right."

"Yeah." The passenger said with a smile.

Sherlock paused as if wondering how to end the conversation with the man. He flashed a fake smile at the man. "Welcome to London."

He immediately walked away and I quickly followed, falling into step with Sherlock. Sherlock stopped a few yards behind the vehicle.

Soon, Jhon came over to us. "Basically just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically." Sherlock answered.

"Not the murderer." Jhon stated. I sighed and closed my eyes.

"Not the murderer, no." Sherlock said exasperated.

"Wrong country, good alibi." Jhon commented.

"As they go." Sherlock agreed.

Jhon looked down as Sherlock switched the I.D card between his hands. "Hey, where - where did you get this? Here." Jhon inquired, reaching for the card adn Sherlock released it to him. "Right." He looked at the name on the card. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat." Sherlock told him.

Jhon nodded and looked down at the car again before looking up and chuckling slightly.

"What?" Sherlock inquired.

"Nothing, just: 'Welcome to London'." Jhon said.

Sherlock chuckled, before looking down the road. I followed his gaze to see the passenger talking to a police officer and pointing in our direction. He would be angry later, but he kind of deserved it if he thought I was a police officer.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked us.

"Ready when you are." Jhon told him before they turned and started running.

I frowned when I saw someone walk around the corner and then I recognized him and it took quite a bit of effort to remain calm.

Even though I was still out of breath and my side still hurt I turned and bolted after Sherlock and Jhon.

Sherlock and Jhon didn't stop running until we were a few blocks from the flat. I paused for a moment beside them.

"I'll meet you there." I told them before breaking into a run again. I had barely managed to remain calm.

"Where are you going?" Jhon called after me.

I didn't answer as I continued running, turning the opposite way that I would take to get back to the flat. When I was sure I was alone I stopped running and collapsed against the wall in an alleyway. I gasped in air as I got to thinking about this new problem. Robert shouldn't be here. It was a good thing he believed me to be dead, at least, but it was still troubling to me.

I clutched at my head and squeezed my eyes shut as memories ran through my mind. Memories I didn't want to remember. I remembered being stuck in a stone coffin, being beat until I couldn't move, being injected with medications and serums more times than I could count, and worst of all being made to lie to everyone just so they wouldn't find him out, being made to protect him.

I bolted to my feet, my eyes flying open when I heard a noise somewhere in the alley. The next thing I knew someone was pulling me away from the wall before slamming me back against it. I gasped as pain lanced through my back and head. I threw my knee up and was satisfied when Ii heard a groan of pain, but I froze when I felt cold steel press against my neck.

I couldn't see who it was because we were surrounded by shadows.

"You're going to do as I say or I'm going to slit your throat. Understand?" The man said.

I closed my eyes for a moment. His voice was rough and yet soft. He sounded like he was between thirty and forty five. He was about five foot eleven, and he seemed experienced with knives judging by the way he held it directly over my jugular. It was possible he was a doctor, but it wasn't the only possibility either. "Yes. Yes. I understand."

"Come on." The man grabbed my arm roughly and spun me to face the direction he wanted me to go. He took the knife away from my throat, but placed it at the small of my back. "Get moving."

I started walking casually, turning when he told me to until we reached a building I knew to be Roland-Kerr College about fifteen minutes later. "Inside."

The man ordered me. I stood still as I tried to buy myself sometime.

"How do I know you won't just kill me when we get in there?" I questioned. "You were willing to kill me in the alley. WHat do you want?"

"I want you to get moving. Jeff wants to see you, but it isn't necessary for him to see you so I can kill you if you don't listen." The man snarled, bringing the knife back to my throat and pressing down slightly, until a small amount of blood trailed down the left side of my neck. I hissed a little bit at the sting of the cut, but walked forward without complaint after his warning. When we got inside, I saw Sherlock and some other person sitting at a table. There was two small bottles in between them and each bottle held an identical pill.

"River." Sherlock said when he saw me, his eyes immediately going to the blood on my neck before he looked at the man who held the knife to my neck.

"Hello, River." The man in front of Sherlock said. I looked to him. He was an older guy with glasses and he was wearing clothes that were dull and brown. He had a medal type thing around his neck and he was wearing a hat that matched his clothes. I was guessing this was Jeff. "Beckett, have her sit down please."

I sat down in the chair that Beckett led me to and I looked across the table at Sherlock. Beckett had sat me down next to the man who was talking to Sherlock and apparently pulling the strings although I guessed he was a puppet as well.

"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius." Jeff said as he turned back to Sherlock. " 'The Science of Deduction'. Now that is proper thinking. Between me and you sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" I sighed softly as I realized that Jeff had no intention of letting me live. He'd named the man behind me and he still had Beckett holding a knife to my throat. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"

Sherlock spoke after a moment of staring at Jeff. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too."

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But just look at your daughter here. She doesn't look like a genius, does she? You'll know better in a minute though. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know." Jeff said. I felt surprise when he reffered to me as Sherlock's daughter. He must be crazy.

"I don't have a daughter." Sherlock murmured, holding the man's gaze for a second before he looked down at the table. "Okay, two bottles. Explain."

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die." Jeff explained.

"Both bottles are of course identical." Sherlock murmured.

"In every way." The taxi driver confirmed.

"And you know which is which." Sherlock stated rather than questioned.

"Course I know."

"But I don't." Sherlock again stated.

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses." Jeff agreed.

"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?" Sherlock demanded. I looked between Jeff and Sherlock before gasping slightly as Beckett pressed the knife harder to my throat, drawing more blood as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back slightly. Sherlock turned sharply to look at me.

"Beckett, ease up. Can't have her dying yet." Jeff said. Beckett let up on the knife a bit and allowed me to lower my head. Sherlock turned back to look at Jeff. "I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one - and then, together, we take our medicine." Sherlock started to grin, now interested. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Sherlock looked down at the bottle, concentrating. "Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. 'olmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice." Sherlock murmured.

"And now I'm givin' you one." Jeff said. Sherlock looked up at him. "You take your time. Get yourself together." Jeff likced his lips. "I want your best game."

"It's not a game. It's chance." Sherlock corrected.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this...this...is the move." With his left hand, Jeff, slid the left hand bottle across the table to Sherlock before pulling his hand back, leaving the bottle where it was. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one."

About five minutes went by before Jeff spoke again. "You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes? Ready to play?"

"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance." Sherlock said calmly.

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"

"Still just chance." Sherlock told him.

"Four people in a row? It's not chance." Jeff countered.

"Luck." Sherlock responded.

"It's genius. I know 'ow people think." Jeff said and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map iside my 'ead." Jeff continued. Sherlock's expression became exasperated. "Everyone's so stupid - even you." At these words Sherlock's gaze sharpened. "Or maybe God just loves me."

Sherlock straightened and leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him on the table. "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie." Sherlock lifted his folded hands to his mouth and gazed at Jeff intently. "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?"

Jeff nodded down to the bottles. "Time to play."

Sherlock unfolded his fingers and adopted the prayer position in front of his mouth. "Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. No one's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no one to tell you." Sherlock said and I could tell that Jeff was trying not to fidget under Sherlock's gaze. "But there's a photograph of children. The chilfren's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them." Sherlock continued. Jeff's gaze slid away from Sherlock and there was a hint of pain in his eyes. "Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts." Sherlock extended his index fingers and Jeff turned his head back to Sherlock. "Ah, but there's more. Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least...three years old? Keeping up appearances, but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" Sherlock questioned. Jeff had gotten control of himself again and was gazing at Sherlock, not saying anything. He was dying I realized at the same time Sherlock did. "Ahh. Three years ago - is that when they told you?" Sherlock's tone was soft.

"Told me what?" Jeff asked flatly.

"That you're a dead man walking." Sherlock replied.

"So are you." Jeff told him.

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?" Sherlock questioned.

Jeff smiled. "Aneurism." He lifted his hand and tapped the right side of his head. "Right in 'ere." Jeff continued and Sherlock smiled in satisfaction. "Any breath could be my last."

Sherlock frowned. "And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism." Jeff corrected.

"No. No, there's something else." Sherlock said thoughtfully. "You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more viscious motivater. Somehow this is about your children."

Jeff sighed and looked away. "Ohh." He turned back to Sherlock. "You are good, ain't you?"

"But how?" Sherlock demanded. I was wondering the same thing. I couldn't figure out anything that made sense about it being about his children.

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs." Jeff said.

"Or serial killing." Sherlock said.

"You'd be surprised." Jeff said and I felt confusion.

"Surprise me." Sherlock told him.

Jeff leaned forward. "I 'ave a sponsor."

"You have a what?" I asked in confusion, only to get my head pulled back again. At this point it was near impossible to ignore the pounding in my head, first from hitting the wall in the alley, and now from Beckett tight hold in my hair. After a moment, Beckett loosened his hold on my hair again.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think." Jeff said.

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?" Sherlock asked, frowning.

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" Jeff came back with intstantly and they stared at each other for a moment. "Yous others out there just like you, except youre so much more than that."

Sherlock frowned. "What'd you mean, more than a man? An organization? What?"

"There's a name no one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter." Jeff nodded down to the bottles. "Time to choose."

Sherlock looked down at the bottles, his eyes looking from one to the other. "What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here."

Sighing in a combination of exasperation and disappointment, Jeff lifted up a pistol and pointed it at Sherlock. "You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head." Sherlock smiled calmly as Jeff continued. "Funnily enough no one's ever gone for that option."

I looked closer at the pistol and realised it was a fake.

"I'll have the gun, please." Sherlock told him.

"Are you sure?" Jeff asked him.

"Definitely. The gun." Sherlock said, still smiling.

"You don't wanna phone a friend?" Jeff inquired.

Sherlock smiled confidently. "The gun."

Jeff's mouth tightened and he slowly pulled the trigger. A flame shot out of the muzzle.

Sherlock smiled smugly. "I know a real gun when I see one."

Jeff clamly lifted the gun/lighter and released the trigger making the fire go out. "None of the others did."

"Clearly. Well. this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case." Sherlock said before his gaze flicked to me and then back. "Why did you bring River here?"

"She's your daughter. Even if neither of you know it yet." Jeff said. "And while this gun isn't real, that knife surely is." As Jeff spoke Beckett emphasized this by pressing the blade into my throat and again drawing blood.

Sherlock stood, grabbing the bottle in front of Jeff. Jeff looked down at the other bottle and his voice gave nothing away as he spoke. "Oh. Interesting." He picked up the other bottle as Sherlock looked at the bottle in his hand. Jeff opened the bottle and dropped the capsule into his hand before holding it up and looking at it closely as Sherlock looked at his. "So, what'd you think?" Jeff asked looking at Sherlock. "Shall we? Really, what do you think?" Jeff stood, facing Sherlock. "Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your daughter's life? I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you..." As Jeff spoke Sherlock undid the lid on his bottle and I felt my blood run cold as I realized he was actually going to do this. For me. "..so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" Jeff continued. Sherlock took the capsule and held it between his thumb and finger, holding it in the light. "Still the addict." Jeff said and Sherlock lowered his hand again, holding it at eye level. "But this...this is what you're really addicted to, innit? You'd do anything...anything at all...to stop being bored." I watched as Sherlock slowly began to move the pill closer to his mouth. Jeff matched the movement with his own capsule. "You're not bored now, are you?" Jeff said as Beckett pulled me to my feet as we watched. Beckett was standing partially behind Jeff, holding me tightly. "Innit good?"

A gunshot rang out and Jeff jerked back when the bullet hit him before Beckett jerked back as well, pulling me to the ground with him. The knife slipped away from my neck and I cried out in pain as it cut deeply into the spot between my left shoulder and my neck. My right arm was also burning. I panted softly as I rolled off of Beckett and back onto my back, I reached up to my shoulder, pulling it away to see that it was all bloody.

Sherlock had dropped his pill when the gun had gone off. I watched as Sherlock turned, sliding over the desk behind him and bending down to look through the bullet hole in the window.

As Sherlock straightened up, Jeff breathed heavily and coughed. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and leaned against the wall, holding my hand to the cut that was streaming blood. Sherlock turned back, grabbing the pill that had landed on the desk as he went over to Jeff. When Sherlock got over to Jeff, he knelt beside him and brandished the pill at him, who had a large pool of blood underneath him and was staring up in shock.

"Was I right?" Sherlock asked. Jeff turned away in disbelief. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" Jeff didn't answer and Sherlock angrily hurled the pill across the room before standing up. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me - my 'fan'. I want a name."

"No." Jeff said weakly.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." Sherlock ordered. Jeff shook his head and Sherlock lifted his foot and put it on Jeff's shoulder, grimacing angrily. Jeff gasped in pain. "A name." Jeff cried out in pain. I felt fear rise in me as I watched. "Now." Still Jeff could only whimper in pain. Sherlock leaned his weight onto his foot, his face intent and manic. Jeff whimpered. "The NAME!" Sherlock said furiously.

"MORIARTY!" Jeff yelled agonized. Jeff's eyes closed and his head rolled to the side. Sherlock stepped back and after a moment he came over to me. He froze as he saw the fear on my face.

"Don't worry." I murmured as I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. "It's not you I'm afraid of. It's memories. That's all. I don't like it when people are angry."

The next thing I knew I felt a warm hand pull my hand away from my wound before it pulled back the sleeve of my overshirt. I opened my eyes and looked at Sherlock. "Do you think he was telling the truth?" I asked.

Sherlock looked at me before returning to examining my shoulder. "About what?"

"About me being your daughter." I explained. "It makes sense and he had no reason to lie."

"I don't know." Sherlock murmured. "Can you stand?"

I nodded and Sherlock helped me to my feet. As I stood I swayed as the world spun. When I nearly fell Sherlock caught me and I leaned against him for a moment. I gasped in shock as he swept his arm under my knees and lifted me into his arms before he headed out of the building. I looked at him for a moment before I rested my head on his shoulder.

When we got outside the paramedics rushed over and took me from Sherlock and over to one of the ambulances. They set me down and started to clean my wounds.

"You're lucky." One of them told me. "If this had been any deeper you would've had to go to the hospital." I nodded as he started bandaging it. "The wound on your arm was just a graze too so.." When he was done bandanging my wounds he draped a large orange blanket over my shoulders. I grimaced as he left. I shook my head and threw the blanket off and stood, nearly falling again when Sherlock and Jhon came over. Sherlock caught me and again lifted me into his arms.

Jhon spoke as Sherlock started walking, still carrying me. "So: dim sum."

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies." Sherlock said and I chuckled.

"No you can't." Jhon said.

"Almost can." Sherlock murmured. "You did get shot though."

"Sorry?" Jhon inquired.

"In Afghanistan." Sherlock explained."There was an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder." Jhon agreed.

"Shoulder!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I thought so."

"No you didn't." Jhon denied.

"The left one." Sherlock murmured and I let my eyes drift closed as I rested my head on his shoulder again.

"Lucky guess." Jhon told him.

"I never guess." Sherlock protested.

"Yes, you do." Jhon said, laughing. I think he said something else, but I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up when I was being settled onto a bed. I looked up to see Sherlock. "Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you."

I nodded and drifted back to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry about the misspelling. I didn't even realize I was doing that. I will do my best not to misspell it any more. Thank you for telling me what you think. It's really appreciated. 


	9. Chapter 9

When I woke up it was to the sounds of crashing going on downstairs and I quickly sat up, running down the stairs without making any noise due to my socks and I stared in surprise when I saw Sherlock fighting a man that was heavily robed, his head almost completely shrouded in scarves. As the man slashed at Sherlock with a curved sword, Sherlock backed up carefully, dodging the slashes. The man backed Sherlock up to the sofa and I watched as Sherlock ducked under the next slash, falling back onto it in a sitting position. The attacker raised his sword high over his head and I watched as Sherlock raised his leg, kicking the man in the chest and shoving him backwards. As the man stumbled Sherlock stood and straightened his jacket. I stared at him in disbelief as I waited to see what he'd do. The man quickly righted his balance and holding his sword horizontally in both hands as he pushed Sherlock back towards the kitchen. With a tight grip on the man's wrists, Sherlock fell backwards against the kitchen table, and the man followed him down, trying to press the blade into Sherlock's throat. I quickly made to go over and help, but Sherlock shook his head at me, almost imperceptibly before he grimaced with effort and pushed the man's right wrist upwards to stop it from cutting him. I watched as the point of the sword dug into the yable on the right of side of Sherlock. Sherlock brought his left leg up several times to knee the man in the side and as the man's grip weakened, Sherlock forced himself upwards again, causing the sword to drag a long slash across the table with it's tip. Sherlock managed to push the attacker into the living room wall before he ducked as to avoid the man's sword again before he quickly straightened up and pointed over the man's shoulder. "Look!" The man had already turned slightly in that direction with his sword and he seemed to be distracted for a moment by Sherlock's and his reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock took advantage of this and delivered a powerful uppercut to the man's jaw, knocking him unconscious into the armchair that Sherlock favored. I watched as Sherlock straightened and immedeately checked his reflection in the mirror, straightening his jacket and cuffs before looking down at the man with disdain before he looked over at me. "Sorry, I woke you." "It's fine." I murmured as I walked over and sat down on the couch. "I usually get up early anyways. Are you interested in finding out if what Jeff said is true or would you rather not? If you don't want to it's fine. I understand." "I've already given Molly blood samples." Sherlock responded. I frowned in surprise. "When did you take my blood?" I wondered. "I managed to get enough from the blood on my hands and the blood from your bandages that John changed." Sherlock answered and I nodded, lying down on the couch and closing my eyes. I soon found myself drifting back to sleep. "Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine." John's annoyed voice woke me and I rolled my head over to look at him. I saw that Sherlock had a book in his hand and there was no sign of the attacker from earlier. "You...you had a row with a machine?" Sherlock asked, lowering the book he was reading. "That's nice, John." I murmured as I sat up. "I was trying to sleep." "Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?" John inquired before he turned to me. "Sorry." I could see that Sherlock was holding back an amused smile as he nodded towards the kitchen. "Take my card." John headed towards the kitchen where Sherlock's wallet was lying on the counter, but before he got there he turned around and looked at Sherlock indignantly. "You could always go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left." Sherlock tried to look nonchalant as he turned a page in his book and John grabbed Sherlock's wallet, looking through it for a suitable payment card. "And what happened about that case you were offered - the Jaria Diamond?" "Not interested." Sherlock answered and I shook my head as I watched. Using a piece of paper as a bookmark, Sherlock snapped the book shut with a loud snap and I noticed that the attackers sword was lying underneath Sherlock's chair in plain view. Sherlock seemed to notice this at the same time as I did and he slid his foot and the sword further back to get the weapon out of sight before he spoke firmly to John. "I sent them a message." John had now found a card he could use, but he bent over to look at the long gauge that was in the table. He sighed and rubbed the mark lightly in case it was able to come off easily. "Ugh, Holmes." Sherlock shook his head innocently as John looked over at him. John turned and left the room and I saw Sherlock smirk as I heard John trotting down the stairs. "I'm going to go take a shower." I told him before standing and grabbing my bag, but wincing as it pulled against my wound before I switched it to my other hand. "Be out in a bit." "Alright. Be careful." Sherlock told me. I frowned slightly as I turned to head to the bathroom. When I was almost to the bathroom I turned back to him. "Were you really going to take that pill last night? To save my life?" Sherlock looked up at me. "No. Of course I wasn't. " I sighed. "I can tell when you're lying, Sherlock. Don't put your life on the line for me again. It isn't worth it. I'm not worth it." I turned and stepped into the bathroom, closing and locking the door before I set my bag down and turned on the shower before carefully undressing and climbing in, taking the bandages off as I did so. They needed changed anyways, I thought as I stood under the warm water. I shook my head to clear it as I stood there. It was about a half hour before I climbed out again, quickly drying off and getting dressed in a new outfit after rebandaging my wounds. The outfit I put on was a black tanktop, black skinny jeans, and a dark red hoody. I pulled on a pair of black socks before I brushed my hair out and pulled on my black combat boots which I carried in my bag. I put everything away before I left the bathroom, going out into the living room to see Sherlock lost in thought as John spoke to him. "Sherlock, are you listening?" John demanded. "I need to go to the bank." Sherlock murmured without looking over at John. He got up and headed for the stairs, grabbing his coat from the hook as he went. John frowned, then jumped up and hurried after him. I leaned against the wall for a moment as I debated whether or not I should follow. I shook my head and pulled out my phone, texting Sherlock. I'M GOING TO STAY AT THE FLAT AND GET SOME SLEEP. KEEP ME UPDATED ON WHATEVER HAS YOU INTERESTED, PLEASE. R. I sent the text and curled up on Sherlock's chair, closing my eyes and soon falling asleep. I woke to my phone going off and I sighed bringing it to my ear as I hit answer. "Hello?" "River, I know you're probably pretty comfortable in that chair, but it would probably benefit you to get to the bank with Sherlock and John. You should know who you're up against. Have fun with the little puzzle we present you." An encrypted voice said in my ear. I frowned as I sat up, looking around as I got out of sight of the windows, simultaneously putting my phone on speaker as I started a trace . "Who is this?" "You're a very bright girl, I think you're capable of figuring that out on your own. You should get to your friends now or I fear what might happen to them. Goodbye." After that the caller hung up and I sighed in frustration as I got nowhere with the trace. I started to send another text to Sherlock, asking for his location, but my phone conveniently died. I shook my head and quickly headed out the door, wincing at the bright sunlight as I broke into a run thinking about where Sherlock and John might be. Sherlock wouldn't just go to any bank. It had to somehow be related to the case that had him interested. Which I knew nothing about. I smiled as I remebered that Sherlock had used John's laptop. I knew this because John obviously hadn't been on it since he wasn't taking any new notes, but his lap top had been moved, plus it had signs of recent use. Therefore Sherlock had to be the one who was using it. I hurried back into the flat and pulled out John's computer, opening it and quickly figuring out the password before I opened the recent tabs. One spoke about a break in at a Shad Sanderson Bank on Tower 42 Old Broad Street. I slammed John's laptop closed and rushed out the door again, wishing I had money to call for a taxi. But I didn't so I had to run. I was soon at the bank and I hurried in, going up to the secretary. "Which floor and room can I find Sherlock Holmes at?" "Um, second floor, Sebastian Wilkes' office." The secretary told me and I took off in a run for the escalator. "Miss!" The secretary called after me. I sprinted up the steps and hurried to Sebastian Wilkes' office. I slowed down to a walk and looked into the room, no danger that I could see. I opened the door and froze when I heard what Sebastian was saying. "We hated him." He said and I looked over to see a momentary look of pain on his face. Wilkes' looked up at me. "Who are you?" "I'm with them." I answered as I closed the door before sitting down next to Sherlock. "Please continue with what you were saying." It took a lot of effort for me not to snap at the man who I instantly disliked. It was quite clear he had been speaking about Sherlock before I had come in. "You'd come down to breakfeast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night." Wilkes' continued. I felt anger rise in me, but I kept my face composed. "I simply observed." Sherlock said quietly. "Go on. Enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying around the world - you're quite right. How could you tell?" Wilkes' questioned. Sherlock opened his mouth, but Wilkes' kept speaking. "You're gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan." John smiled and Sherlock spoke. "No, I..." Wilkes' just spoke over him. "Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!" Sherlock simply looked back at him for a moment before he spoke. "I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me." Jhon frowned at him, probably confused by such an ordinary answer. Wilkes' laughed humourlessly and Sherlock smiled back at him with an equal lack of humour. Wilkes' clapped his hands together before becoming more serious. "I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break in." He led us across the trading floor and to another room. "Sir Williams office - the bank's former Chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night." "What did they steal?" John asked. "Nothing." I answered before Wilkes' could. "They left a message, didn't they?" "Yeah." Wilkes' held his security card against the reader to unlock the door. Hanging on the plain white wall behind the large desk was a framed portrait of a man a suit - presumably the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone had sprayed what looked like a graffiti tag in yellow paint. The tag looked vaguely like a number 8, but with the top half left open and a horizontal line above it in almost a straight line. And across the eyes of the portrait another almost straight horizontal line was sprayed. The yellow paint had run trails down the painting. Wilkes' led the way to the desk and then stepped aside to allow a clear view of the wall. John moved to the other side of Wilkes', who looked expectantly at Sherlock as he stared in fixed concentration at the graffiti. 


	10. Chapter 10

Later Wilkes' had led us back to his office and he'd pulled up the security footage of the office from the previous night.

"Sixty seconds." Wilkes commented. He flipped back and forth between the still taken at 23:34:01 which showed the paint on the wall and the portrait and the still taken at 23:33:01 when the wall and portrait were impeccably clean. "So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock questioned and I looked to Wilkes.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting." Wilkes said.

Back in the reception area Wilkes showed us a screen on a computer which had a layout of the trading floor and it's surrounding offices. Each indicated door had a light next to it, showing it's security status.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk- in cupboard, every toilet." Wilkes explained to us in his irritating voice though perhaps it was just irritating to me because of how he treated Sherlock.

"That door didn't open last night." Sherlock murmured. Wilkes might be an idiot but at least he had presented such an interesting case for us, I thought to myself as I observed the lay out plans.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you - five figures." Wilkes told us, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a cheque. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on the way."

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian." Sherlock said in disgust before he turned to walk away and I followed him, watching as he took pictures of the graffiti and did other stuff to help with the investigation.

After a moment I shook my head and started my own investigation. I looked to my right where the floor-to-ceiling windows showed an impressive view of the nearby Swiss Re Tower, better known as 'The Gherkin'. Frowning and looking away for a moment, I then walked over to the windows and pulled up the blinds which were covering a door onto a small balcony. Opening the door I went out onto the balcony and looked at the spectacular view over London before looking down at the very long drop to the ground hundreds of feet below. I looked along the balcony and bit my lip thoughtfully before heading back inside.

When I looked around I saw Sherlock on the trading floor. He had ducked down behind a desk and now rose slowly upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William's office. He then ducked sideways and hurried across the floor. I watched in slight curiosity, waiting for him to finish. Sherlock continued to scamper around the floor, frequently scurrying sideways and ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway. He danced across the floor again and twirled around a column before backing towards an office on the other side of the floor. Stopping in that doorway, he wiggled about, his eyes still fixed on Sir William's office, then he turned and went into the office before heading to the other side of the desk. Standing directly behind the chair of whoever worked in that room. I walked over to him and peered at the portrait I had a clear view across the top of the painting and I could see the new yellow slash across the portrait's eyes. Sherlock moved sideways across the room before coming back to his previous position, confirming that this was the only place on the trading floor where the damaged portrait could be seen. Looking around the room for some identification, Sherlock eventually went to the door where two signs were attached to the outside. I followed after and looked at the signs. One showed that this was the office of the Hong Kong Desk Head, and the sign above it gave the name of that person – Edward Van Coon. Sherlock slid the top sign out of its holder and headed off with me following. Sherlock lead me and John back towards the escalators.

"Two trips around the world this month. You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him." John stated. Sherlock smiled but didn't respond. "How did you know?"

"Did you see his watch?" Sherlock asked him. Probably not, I thought. Most people don't look at stuff like that or they do, but they don't make the connections.

"His watch?" John wondered, completely lost.

"The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it." Sherlock explained patiently to John.

"Within a month? How'd you get that part?" John queried.

"New Breitling." Sherlock responded. "Only came out this February."

"Okay. So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?" John wondered.

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks." Sherlock said.

"Hmm?" John queried in confusion.

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and ..." Sherlock deliberately trailed off, allowing John to finish the sentence.

"... they'll lead us to the person who sent it."

"Obvious." I murmured.

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?"John inquired.

"Pillars." I answered simply, hoping he would catch on.

"What?" John asked and I was silent. letting Sherlock explain.

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot." Sherlock told John.

"Does it?" John queried, obviously very confused now.

Sherlock continued talking as the three of us went through the revolving doors and out onto the street. "Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." He held up the name card to show John. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." He spotted what he had been looking for and called out. "Taxi!"

The three of us climbed in and I sighed softly, resting my head against the window.

(**Sorry it's so short. I didn't even know if I was going to continue the fanfic because I'm unsure if any one even enjoys it.)**


	11. Chapter 11

After a taxi ride, we were outside a block of flats and Sherlock pressed the door buzzer marked 'Van Coon'. Releasing it, he looked into the security camera above the buzzers, waited a couple of seconds, then pressed the buzzer again. There was no response.

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?" John questioned. I shook my head though this time it wasn't in annoyance. I actually wasn't sure at the moment. With the call I had received earlier it seemed risky to just be out in the open like this.

Sherlock looked at the number of buzzers on the wall and stepped back to look up the front of the building, presumably calculating the layout of the flats inside. He came back to the wall and looked at John triumphantly. "Just moved in."

"What?"

"The floor above. New label." He pointed to another buzzer which had a handwritten label saying, 'Wintle'.

" Could have just replaced it." John suggested.

Sherlock pressed the right buzzer and we both looked at John, speaking simultaneously. "No one ever does that."

A moment later a woman's voice came over the intercom. " Hello?"

Her voice was soft and sounded between twenty and thirty.

Sherlock turned to the camera and smiled, putting on a 'I'm just a normal harmless human being' voice. "Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met." He grinned into the camera.

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in." Ms. Wintle murmured.

Sherlock turned to throw a brief 'told you so' glance at John, then turned back to the camera. "Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat." He grimaced and bit his lip plaintively.

"D'you want me to buzz you in?" Ms. Wintle questioned. She seemed friendly, I thought. Probably not too good for her.

" Yeah. And can I use your balcony?" Sherlock requested.

"What?" Ms. Wintle asked, confused.

I tuned Sherlock out as he began flirting with Ms. Wintle. I backed up to look at the layout of the building as Sherlock had done, but I was looking for something quite different than he had been. I was looking for handholds. No way was Sherlock going to let John and I in after he got inside Van Coon's flat. He'd be too busy looking around. I smiled in slight victory when I found a few good handholds and after a moment I walked over to the wall, realizing I would have to jump for the first hand hold either that or get John to give me a boost.

By now Sherlock had flirted his way into Ms. Wintle's flat and I bent down and jumped for the first hand hold, nearly missing it but managing to wrap my fingers around it.

John looked up at me. "What are you doing?"

"Getting into the flat. I don't think Sherlock's going to let us in and I kind of want to challenge him a little." I answered before pulling myself up an inch with my arm and grabbing the next handhold before just letting myself hang there for a moment. "I'm bored."

I shot a small smile at John and pulled myself up a good distance before quickly letting go with my right hand and throwing it up to grab another handhold, repeating with my left hand before pulling my feet up onto the first hand holds. This would make it a little easier now. I suppressed a groan as my shoulder exploded with pain. Oh, right. I forgot about that.

"River, you can't be doing that kind of stuff with your shoulder like that." John said, sternly.

I turned to him masking the pain I felt. I'd started this, might as well make the pain worth it. "Thanks for the concern, really, John. But I honestly don't feel any pain." I lied before pushing myself up to the next handhold and quickening my pace as pain shot through my shoulder. When I was about fifty feet up, the pain in my shoulder was causing my grip to loosen and I forced myself to move faster. Great, I thought. Idiot! This was a bad idea. I froze when I got to the next handhold and idiodically looked down.

John yelled up to me. "Don't be an idiot!"

"Too late for that." I muttered as I looked to the balcony I was trying to get to. I would have to jump and hope that I made it. I sighed and took a deep breath before jumping for the ledge, grabbing it with only my right arm which was not as damaged as my left shoulder. I gasped softly as my fingers closed on the rail and nearly slipped off and I swung my left arm up, quickly pulling myself up and over the ledge though my arms screamed at me for it. "Don't worry, John!" I called down to him. "I'm on the balcony now!"

"River, what are you doing?" Sherlock's voice said from above me.

I looked up. "Waiting for you now."

Sherlock climbed over Ms. Wintle's balcony and dropped down next to me. "Did you climb to get up here?"

"Yes." I answered, reaching for the handle of the door, finding it unlocked, which was probably good because otherwise we would probably be stuck waiting for Lestrade and his crew who would probably be taking pictures. Annoying people.

Sherlock caught my arm when I moved to go into the flat and I turned to look at him to see him inspecting me intently. After a moment he finally spoke. "You hurt yourself."

"It doesn't matter. I was an idiot." I told him. "What's done is done. If it really matters that much to you we'll talk about it later."

I pulled away from him and walked into the flat. The living room was very elegantly was shiny and in shades of blue and white and purple. Except for the large flatscreen TV. There was minimal clutter, too. I looked at everything as Sherlock and I made our way through the room, I glanced at a pile of books half wanting to look to see if he had any good reads. Sherlock walked into the kitchen, looking at the work surface before opening the fridge to reveal that it's full of nothing other than bottles of champagne. The front door to the flat buzzed and I remembered John.

"Sherlock." John said from the other side of the door. I looked at Sherlock as he moved into the hall.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked. "Is River in there with you?"

Sherlock opened the door to the small bathroom and glanced inside at the few items on the shelf opposite. He shut the door and walked to a larger door which was closed. He tried it and found that it was locked.

"Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in." John said, annoyed. I sighed and turned towards the door.

There was suddenly a loud bang and I jumped, turning to look at Sherlock. He walked inside the room he had just broken into and I quickly followed him in. We found a man in a suit and overcoat lying on his back on the bed, dead. There was a pistol on the floor, and the man had a small bullet hole in his right temple.

I grimaced and went to let John in. "Sorry about that." I said as I opened the door for him.

"That was completely reckless of you!" John nearly yelled as he walked into the room and closed the door. "What were you thinking?"

"That I needed to get up here." I told him in nonchalant tones. "Honestly ,I'd actually forgotten about being injured."

"You could have seriously hurt yourself." John told me.

I looked up at him. "And I didn't so..just let it go."

"Let me at least look." He told me and I sighed, looking to Sherlock, but it seemed I wouldn't be getting any help from him. In face he came over to help John.

"I'm fine." I told them both, though in reality it felt like someone had stabbed a hot iron into my shoulder and left it there which I actually knew what that felt like. "Honestly."

John crossed his arms and glared at me. "Neither of us is giving in."

"Fine." I snapped and carefully pulled down the sleeve of my jacket and shirt from my left shoulder. The bandage was soaked in blood. "Oh."

John looked at me. "You mean you didn't feel that?"

"Not the blood, no." I said as he started to pull the bandage off. I sighed and pulled out the extra bandages I carried. "Here."

John looked at me strangely. "You brought extra bandages? Were you planning on getting hurt?"

"It's always a possibility." I murmured as Sherlock grabbed a bowl of water, being careful not to leave prints. John carefully dipped a rag into the water and applied pressure to my shoulder. "Ow!"

Once the bleeding had stopped he re-bandaged it while Sherlock called Scotland Yard. I went around making sure that I none of my blood had dripped anywhere before I threw the rag out the window and emptied the bowl of water, placing it on the counter, making sure not to leave prints.


	12. Chapter 12

Later, the police had been called and a photographer was taking pictures of Van Coon's body lying on the bed while I leaned against the door, watching. A forensics officer was dusting for fingerprints on the nearby mirror, and distant voices suggested that other forensics officers were elsewhere in the flat. Sherlock had taken his coat off and was in the bedroom putting on a pair of latex gloves.

John stood beside him. "D'you think he'd lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys."

"We don't know that it was suicide." Sherlock said, not looking up at the military doctor. "Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony." John objected, standing beside Sherlock.

Sherlock had squatted down by a suitcase on the floor near the bed and had opened the lid and was looking at the contents. "Been away three days, judging by the laundry."

I walked over and the deep indentations in the clothing confirmed his deduction.

Sherlock straightened and then looked at John. "Look at the case. There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks – I'll take your word for it." John told him, chuckling humorlessly.

"Problem?" I asked, my eyes flicking up to John's expression.

John's voice was a little angry. "Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."

"Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?" Sherlock asked John as he walked to the foot of the bed.

"What, some sort of code?" John asked.

This time I didn't roll my eyes. I had to give John some credit. He was smarter than most other people. I couldn't have everything. "Obviously."

As I said this, I thought of what could be construed from the statement and felt as if I should clarify, but it really wasn't the time and it fit either way.

Having looked closely at Van Coon's legs – or possibly his shoes – Sherlock moved up and carefully opened the man's jacket to look at his inside pockets. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering." John said as if it was a perfectly logical explanation which I guess in some situations it was, but not this time. Though it could be taken several ways if you changed what he actually meant which Sherlock obviously didn't get John's meaning as his next words indicated.

"Oh good. You follow."

"No." John told him.

Sherlock threw him a look before moving on to examine Van Coon's hands. "What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?"

John just frowned in confusion and I decided to step in to help. "What about this morning – those letters you were looking at?"

"Bills." John said, seeming to kind of understand.

Sherlock gently pried open Van Coon's mouth and pulled out a small black origami flower from inside. Air hissed out from the dead man's lungs.

Sherlock turned to John and I. "Yes. He was being threatened."

MAN's VOICE (outside the bedroom): "Bag this up, will you ..." An unfamiliar man's voice said from outside the bedroom. Sighing, I waited for him to come meet us.

John looked closely at the paper flower as Sherlock lifted an evidence bag to put the flower into. "Not by the gas board."

" ... and see if you can get prints off this glass." The man's voice continued and I spun around to face a man who was about twenty- six and was dressed in rather plain clothes. Just an average suit and tie.

Sherlock walked past me and stopped in front of the man, offering his hand for a shake. "Ah, Sergeant. We haven't met."

The young officer put his hands on his hips. "Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence. That goes for the little girl too. The only reason I'm not kicking her and you out is because Lestrade is a sort of friend and he says you stay. Just stay out of the way."

Lowering his hand, Sherlock gave the evidence bag to the officer. "I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock." The man said and I tilted my head to the side as I appraised him. He was about 5'10", short brown hair, and ugly brown eyes and he definitely didn't look like a detective.

Sherlock looked at him in surprise as well, then turned and looked at John. Dimmock walked out of the room and I quickly followed him into the living room, watching as he handed the bag to one of the forensics team. I could almost feel John and Sherlock as they followed behind me.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide." Dimmock said and I resisted the urge to laugh at him.

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts." John said and I looked at him with wonder. Hadn't he learned anything from living with Sherlock and I? I mean, he certainly wasn't an idiot, but apparently I would always be rethinking my opinion of him though if I were honest with myself it was just my opinion of his intellect. If I threw that to the side then I actually kind of liked him as a friend. At least he was reliable and didn't regard me and Sherlock with disgust because he thought we were freaks, though I was still waiting to see when that would happen, I liked hm for the time being.

I glanced at Sherlock as he took his gloves off and turned back to John. "Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." Sherlock corrected him before turning to Dimmock. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" Dimmock challenged and I motioned to the bedroom we had just left.

"The wound was on the right side of his head." I said, knowing that it was quite obvious.

"And?" Dimmock asked in complete idiocy. People were irritating.

"Van Coon was left-handed." Sherlock cut in, going into an elaborate mime as he demonstrated his point, pretending to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand. "Requires quite a bit of contortion."

"Left-handed?" Dimmock questioned, looking at Sherlock as if he was mad.

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice. All you have to do is look around this flat." Sherlock said, sarcastically as he pointed to the table beside the table. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left."

"Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. Do we need to go on?" I said in annoyance.

"No, I think you've covered it." John said, tiredly.

"Well, might as well," I said, now wanting to prove that Dimmock was an idiot. It'd been years since I'd done this and I was kind of enjoying it actually. "It's almost at the bottom of the list."

I saw John nod as if to say 'Yeah, I thought you might' and I nearly didn't go on because now it was rather obvious to me. John accepted Sherlock for his strangeness, but not me. He seemed to find me an annoyance actually. I pushed that thouht out of my head and pointed towards the kitchen. "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left." I turned to Dimmock rather impatiently. "It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head, now as the child do you think I explained that well enough?"

Dimmock looked thoroughly insulted by my last comment. "You're the one who's the child here."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "You hate being challenged. So does a child. Therefore I think my deduction of you is quite sound. If you were the grown up you like to pretend to be then you would accept any help you could get and you would be focused on making sure that the public is safe rather than making sure that your position is safe. Instead you're trying to write this off as a suicide, but what are you gonna do when it turns out you're wrong? What happens when someone else dies because you didn't look at the facts? Because you decided to ignore everything the designated freak told you? Sherlock might be different, but look at his track record. He's definitely solved more cases then you and in less time. I suggest you learn from him." Dimmock seemed to be speechless as I finished making my point. "Now if you put all of those facts together the conclusion is: someone broke in here and murdered him. That is the only explanation of all the facts."

"But the gun: why ..." Dimmock asked, searching for a way to discredit my theory.

"He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened." Sherlock interrupted, walking away and starting to put on his scarf, coat, and gloves.

"What?" Dimmock asked.

"Today at the bank. Sort of a warning." John said in realization and explanation.

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in." Sherlock told Dimmock. I stayed silent as I watched the detective.

"And the bullet?" Dimmock asked.

"Went through the open window." I said, letting my arms drop to my sides as the position I'd had them in was beginning to make my shoulder hurt.

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!" Dimmock asked, still trying to discredit us.

I rolled my eyes as Sherlock spoke. "Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Dimmock asked.

"Good! You're finally asking the right questions." Sherlock said condescendlingly as he slammed his hand dramatically into his glove before he turned and left the apartment. John looked round at Dimmock and then pointed apologetically towards Sherlock before following him.

"You might want to think about my bit of advice." I said to Dimmock, moving to follow Sherlock and John. "It might save lives someday if you listen."

With that I followed Sherlock and John outside. I frowned when I saw a man standing outside waiting for us. He was slightly balding, wore a suit, was carrying a closed umbrella with him, and had sharp, surprisingly intelligent eyes. He was about 6' 1", was obviously someone important with the way he held himself, and was obviously he knew Sherlock by the way he was staring.

Sherlock looked at him in annoyance and slight resentment. "Mycroft."

"Sherlock." Mycroft answered, glancing at John and I. "John, River."

I kept my face blank as I thought about how he could possibly know my name. I found it to be slightly and abhoringly creepy. I did not know if it was because of Sherlock's tone towards Mycroft, who I found myself passively glaring at, or something about my deductions of Mycroft that welcomed these feelings of residual resentment. I felt a little annoyed and disgusted with myself for feeling this way about someone I had just met, but I was unable to quell these feelings as I took an unnotiecable defensive stance next to Sherlock.

There was only three ways that Mycroft could know my name. One, someone had told him though I don't know who would. Two, he had been following me. Three, he had some reason to search for my records on the internet and that proved to be quite unsettling. If he had looked me up then he knew quite a bit about me that I didn't like people knowing. It wasn't because I had done anything that I didn't tell anyone about it. It was because I didn't like people's judgement and I felt ashamed for the things that I had been unable to stop.

The most likely reason would be that someone had mentioned me. And that was the only way that he would have reason to look me up, the only way he would have even known enough about me to look me up. I was unsure of who could have told Mycroft about me as of right now because I was unsure of who knew both me and Mycroft. Only a few people knew me though so I guess I could narrow it down a little. John, Sherlock, Robert, - though I didn't really count him since he didn't know I was alive - Mrs. Hudson, a few people on the police force, but that was doubtful, and Jeff, who was now dead. Though he could have mentioned it before he'd even wound up at the college and that meant that Moriarty could have possible said something though he would have to know as well and this just opened up an endless list of possibilities, which would be near impossible to track.

"How are you, little brother?" Mycroft asked, breaking me out of my reverie which had lasted like a second or two.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the question.

"I heard you had another flatmate." Mycroft answered, his eyes resting on me. "And I thought I would take a closer look. After all, a big brother should keep an eyes on his siblings, right? Plus I want to see your reaction when you read that text that Ms. Hooper's sent you."

Sherlock glared suspiciously at Mycroft when his phone trilled an alert and I felt my stomach knot up a bit. It must be the test results, I thought. Why else would she text him? She hadn't before.

Sherlock pulled out his phone, though he didn't look at it just yet. I refused to look at it either as I kept my gaze on Mycroft. He was Sherlock's brother and from Mycroft's words it was obvious that Sherlock wasn't the one who had told him about me.

After a moment of staring at Mycroft, Sherlock looked down at his phone and his expression went from being guarded to being completely shocked. Was that good or bad?

"Sherlock?" John asked hesitantly. "What is Sherlock? What does it say?"

Sherlock just handed the phone over to John without saying a word.

John took the device and looked at it himself. "You're...You're River's father?"

Now it was my turn to be shocked, even Mycroft was shocked, obviously not expecting that. I looked at Mycroft. "You're surprised. What did you think she was going to send him?"

"Just evidence proving that I was right in an old dispute." Mycroft said, looking at me with shock, though it was hard to tell with his face. "Not this. I should be going. See you some other time."

Sighing, I looked at Sherlock as Mycroft left and I carefully composed my expression. He would need time to absorb this information. "How about you guys head to find Wilkes's and I'll go see what I can find out about the graffiti and oragami."

It took him a minute, but Sherlock looked up and nodded before him and John headed off. I frowned in worry as I started for the library. I'd given him a way to stay on task and get used to the information he'd just heard, but what if he decided he didn't want to deal with having a daughter? Well, at least I was used to being on my own, but it would be nice to have someone who cared, somewhere that felt like home. It was probably too much to hope for.

Shaking my head, I headed into the library and sat at the computer, pushing all other thoughts from my head. I spent about five hours researching on the computer, only coming up with absoloutely nothing. After hour six I got a text from Sherlock.

WHERE ARE YOU? SH

Sighing, I replied quickly. LIBRARY. FIND ANYTHING OUT? R

NOT MUCH. YOU'VE BEEN AT THE LIBRARY FOR SIX HOURS? SH

YES. AND I'VE FOUND NOTHING. R

COME BACK TO THE FLAT THEN. IF YOU HAVEN'T FOUND ANYTHING YET THEN IT'S UNLIKELY THAT YOU WILL. SH

I was silent for a moment as I thought about how to answer. ARE YOU SURE? R

YES. OF COURSE. SH

ON MY WAY. R

Standing, I tucked my phone into my pocket and exited the building, surprised when I found that the sun was already setting. I groaned and set out in a fast jog towards the flat, actually tired for once. Upon arriving I slowed down and caught my breath before entering, keeping my behavior more or less normal.

Sherlock seemed to have recovered for the most part and was waiting for me.

"Where's John?" I asked, closing the door and walking over to the couch and sitting down.

"In the shower." Sherlock answered and the room was filled with an awkward silence afterwards. "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked, a little confused which was rare for me.

"For giving me something else to focus on earlier." He explained. "It was...helpful."

"And what have you decided?"

"I don't think things have to change that much. I think I can handle it if you want to give it a try." Sherlock said, looking intently at me.

I blinked in surprise. "You're giving me a choice?"

Sherlock's expression remained calculating. "Yes. Of course."

"Yes. I do want to give it try." I said, reclining back on the couch. "But I have a lot of damage. Just a warning."

"I've noticed." Sherlock said, with a slight smile. "We'll work it out."

I nodded and closed my eyes, realizing how tired I was.

"This morning..." Sherlock started and I opened my eyes to look at him. "You said you weren't worth it. Why do you think that?"

"That's what all the facts point to." I answered. "I've made too many mistakes, caused too many problems. It's as simple as that."

I let my eyes close again and as the silence drew on I soon fell asleep.

**(Thanks to Ais99, Lulalulale, Melancholic Pianist, and BlooperLover for the reviews. I hope I did okay with not making her hate John or anything. She never really did, but rather she thought it was a bit annoying to always have to explain to him. I am definitely keeping your guy's requests and stuff in mind as I write this, hope I'm doing okay. Please keep reviewing and if you see anything that could be improved on, let me know and I'll do my best. I also hope I did okay with having the results confirmed for Sherlock. Thanks again.)**


	13. Chapter 13

Upon waking up, I saw that Sherlock had printed out the photographs of the graffiti near and across Sir William's portrait and had pinned them around the mirror above the fireplace. He was sitting on one of the dining chairs with his back to the dining table and his fingers were steepled under his chin and he was staring at the photos rather intently. I quietly pushed myself up into a sitting position and looked at the photo's, trying to decipher what they meant. I glanced over as Jhon walked in, dropping his jacket onto a chair.

"I said, "Could you pass me a pen?"" Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off of the photo's.

"I just woke up." I told Jhon as he looked at me.

"When did you ask me to pass you a pen?" Jhon asked Sherlock.

Sherlock kept his gaze on the pictures. "'Bout an hour ago."

Jhon sighed. "Didn't notice I'd gone out, then."

He picked up a peen from the table beside his chair and, without even looking at Sherlock, tossed the pen in his direction. Sherlock lifted his left hand and caught it without looking away from the photo's on the wall and I shook my head before standing.

Jhon walked over tot he mirror to look more closely at the photo's. "Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery."

"How was it?" Sherlock asked, glancing at Jhon.

"It's great. She's great." Jhon said absently and I frowned.

"Who?" Sherlock asked, his voice not really having changed.

Jhon looked around at him. "The job."

""She"?" Sherlock asked, his voice slightly confused. As I walked over to the fireplace, I glanced at Jhon, judging his expression. His expression stayed more or less the same.

"...It." Jhon corrected with a frown.

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then jerked his head to his right. "Here, have a look."

"Hmm?" Jhon walked over to the table and looked at the webpage on the open computer.

I didn't bother as I continued to study the photographs of the graffiti. They seemed familiar to me, but I couldn't place why.

"The intruder who can walk through walls." Jhon said and I frowned, turning to face him.

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon." Sherlock said, not looking at Jhon.

Jhon straightened and looked over at Sherlock. "God. You think ..."

"He's killed another one." Sherlock said simply.

Later D.I. Dimmock sat at his desk, his arms crossed over his chest in exasperation as Sherlock stood on the other side of the desk and typed onto a laptop.

Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat ..." Sherlock turned the laptop around to show Dimmock the web page that he showed Jhon earlier. "... doors locked from the inside."

"You've gotta admit, it's similar." Jhon said as Dimmock scowled at the computer. "Both men killed by someone who can ..." He hesitated momentarily before speaking again. "... walk through solid walls."

"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?" I asked, leaning against his desk. Dimmock squirmed, not meeting any of our gazes.

Sherlock looked up, exasperated and sighed pointedly. "You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?"

Dimmock nodded. "Mmm."

"And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?" Sherlock pressed.

"No." Dimmock said, reluctantly and I suppressed a smile.

"No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel." Sherlock said and Dimmock looked back at him silently. Sherlock leaned forward over the desk and spoke quietly but intensely into Dimmocks face. "I've just handed you a murder enquiry." He nodded towards the picture of Lukis on the computer and spoke louder. "Five minutes in his flat."

**(Sorry, that this is so short. I wanted to post a new chapter for those who have been reading it, but I've been busy lately and didn't have much time to write. Hope you like this and please review.)**


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock ducked under the police tape at the bottom of the stairs inside the door of the flat and John, Dimmock and I quickly followed him upstairs. Looking around at everything as I went I followed him into the living room. This guy was definitely a pack rat...and really loved books. There was all sorts in here, on bookshelves and scattered on the carpeted floor, along with several open newspapers. Charles Dickens, H. P. Lovecraft, Stephen King, Christopher Pike, Stephenie Meyer, Science books, Books on how to be a good detective. Actually there seemed to be more educational or even Urban books lying around than the just for good reads ones. There was even the dictionary. That was just dedication. There was also an open empty suitcase on the floor. Nearby on the carpet was a black origami flower, similar to the one that Sherlock pulled from Van Coon's mouth.

Sherlock walked over to the kitchen area and looked through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings, pushing the net curtain back for a better look, he smirked. "Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable." He walked back to the middle of the room to stand beside me. "They don't reckon for one second that there's another way in." He turned back towards the stairs and I looked up to see a skylight above the landing.

"I don't understand." Dimmock said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sherlock went out onto the landing as I spoke. "You're dealing with a killer who can climb."

Sherlock hopped up on a step stool to get closer to the skylight which was high up on the angled roof.

"What are you doing?" Dimmock demanded.

"He clings to the walls like an insect." Sherlock said, unhooking the latch and pushing the window upwards before speaking, his voice much more soft. "That's how he got in."

"What?!" Dimmock shouted.

"Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight." Sherlock explained, doing his best to keep his voice free of annoyance.

Dimmock let out a humorless laugh. "You're not serious! Like Spiderman?"

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon." I said, exasperated.

"Oh, ho-hold on!" Dimmock said still laughing in disbelief. I rolled my eyes.

"And of course that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace." Sherlock stepped down onto the landing and looked around again. "We have to find out what connects these two men."

His eyes fell on the pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase. Jumping down a few stairs Sherlock picked up one particular book which had fallen open at its front page which showed that it had been borrowed from West Kensington Library. Slamming the book shut, he took it with him as he headed off down the stairs. I hurried after him.

After a taxi journey, Sherlock, John, and I were once again on an escalator, this time inside West Kensington Library. Sherlock found his way to the aisle where Lukis' book came from and for once I just followed.

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died." Sherlock said, checking the reference number stuck to the bottom of the books spine, he went to the correct place along the shelves and started pulling out books and examining them. I sighed and started helping him.

Why would anyone have so many books all over the place in their flat? I wondered as my mind wandered to the cluttered mess that was Lukis's place of dwelling. From what I'd gathered in that flat about Lukis, he wouldn't keep all of that stuff for sentimentality or a hobby. So the only other options I could think of for someone having so many books was that they were either selling stuff, possibly thinking of starting their own business, or they were looking for something. Probably looking for something with all the different detective books he had. So he was definitely in some kind of trouble and wanted to find something or someone. So what or who was it and why was he looking for it?

"Sherlock." John said and the strange tone of his voice made me look over as I was just setting down one of the books that was in my hand. John was staring into the gap left by the several books he had removed. Stepping over to him, Sherlock reached into the shelf and pulled out a giant handful of books and as I walked over he pulled out another handful of books to reveal that spray painted on the back of the shelf were the same two symbols sprayed across Sir William Shad's office.

Walking outside, a shiver ran up my back and I glanced around warily as I stopped in my tracks, Sherlock and Jhon walking past me before stopping and turning to look at me.

"River?" John asked, his tone curious. Ignoring him, I spun around in a slow circle, searching the crowd and buildings with my gaze. As my eyes passed over the top of a building, I caught a glimpse of shine and I quickly averted my gaze back there. After a moment my phone rang and I quickly pulled it out, flipping it open as Sherlock and John came to stand beside me, John having a confused expression on his face, Sherlock understanding and curious as he looked around as I had.

"Hello, little girl." A familiar voice said into the phone sending cold chills up my spine, the pet name causing me to fist my hand until my knuckles turned white. "Miss me?"

"What do you want?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady as I glared up at the building.

"Nice try, but your voice still wavers. Even when I'm not standing there beside you, you're scared." The voice said again, a trace of a laugh in his voice.

"I repeat. What. Do. You. Want?" I enunciated the words as I tried to ignore what he said.

"Not interested in small talk I see." The voice said and I suppressed a sigh of exasperation. "Fine, then. I want you to lose the two with you. Do whatever you have to do or I open fire on this crowd of unsuspecting people. Who knows? I might fire on the pregnant woman over there who seems to be quite happy with her husband or the elderly man or perhaps the twin toddlers by the fountain." Robert chuckled darkly. "I imagine they suspect that something isn't right by now and no doubt Sherlock has seen the sniper rifle, so I imagine it won't be too hard for you to get away."

"And what happens after that?" I asked, my voice strangely calm though I was shaking on the inside.

"I haven't decided yet, but you probably aren't going to like it." There was a second of silence and when he spoke again there was no trace of laughter in his tone anymore. "After all, little girls who don't do what they're supposed to or decide to fake their own deaths need to be punished. You have five seconds to get away from them. Five." I closed my eyes tightly. "Four." When I opened my eyes again, I didn't give myself time to think as I just broke into a run, my thumb quickly pressing the button for speaker phone so I could still hear the countdown. Sherlock and John were quickly on my tail after a brief moment of shock. "Three." I ground my teeth together and sped up though my shoulder was protesting against the harsh movements running caused. I glanced back and saw that they were still behind me. "Two." I tucked my phone into my pocket, keeping the call on as I leapt, bracing my foot on the wall to launch myself up onto a rooftop before I quickly got to my feet, continuing across the luckily small rooftops. "One." I didn't stop running and didn't even look to see if I had lost Sherlock and John, instead I just sped up, leaping across a gap between buildings and landing in a roll on the opposite rooftop. My shoulder screamed in pain as I hit the rooftop in my roll, but I ignored it as I came up out of the roll, running. "Zero. Good job. You're safe, but I want you to keep running. Until I tell you to stop."

I blinked tears out of my eyes as I leapt across to another building, going into a roll, and again causing pain to flare in my shoulder. I couldn't keep this up much longer, I thought as I scurried down a fire escape, landing on my feet before running again down and alley. The sun was getting lower and I knew that Sherlock and John would still be looking for me or perhaps Sherlock had gone back to see if he could find clues on the rooftop where Robert had been. It's what I would do.

As I approached a railing, I reached out with my hand, leaping and throwing my body up in the air so my legs were in a horizontal position and flying over the bar and as my feet touched the ground again, I was sprinting forward again. My legs were burning and were close to feeling like jelly, but somehow I managed to keep going.

"Okay. You can stop." Robert said and I collapsed onto my hands and knees, gasping at the pain in my shoulder before I let myself fall onto my back, gasping in air as I pulled the phone out, taking it off speaker phone and putting it up to my ear. The sun had set now. "I want you to answer a question. What would you do if I fired on someone now even though you did as I asked?"

"I would leave...and do my best to kill you." I said as I finally got my breath back, though there was a painful stitch in my side from the run and I could feel warm liquid running down my arm as I sat up.

"I asked what you would do, not what you would like to do." Robert said, his voice dangerous.

"I don't know what I'd do." I snapped, pulling my knees up to my chest.

Robert was silent for a moment. When the silence started to get to me, he spoke. "That's interesting. You should get ready to run again, only this time you aren't only running from people, but from people with guns. I'll leave you to it and I'll get back to you later if you survive. I don't think our game's over yet."

With that he hung up and I scrambled to my feet as a black SUV rolled around the corner. The window rolled down and sure enough a man with a small handgun stuck his head and torso out to aim at me.

I gasped and ran towards the quickest way out of the open space I was in without getting people hurt. As I ran I felt bullets zip right by me, but I didn't slow down, after all a moving target was harder to hit and none of them had hit me yet, so I was good. I quickly rounded the corner and continued down the for some reason empty street. Where the hell was everyone?

I couldn't tell you why, but when my phone rang I answered it. I knew it wasn't Robert, so there wasn't any rush to get to whoever the hell it was, but I still answered it. "Hello?"

"River. Where are you?" Sherlock's voice said in my ear and I nearly shouted in relief, but the sound of bullets tearing into the sidewalk snapped me away from that before I could sound like a crazy person. "Is someone shooting at you?"

"Yeah, well, I guess I make good target practice." I said into the phone as I rounded another corner into an alley. Which was probably a pretty bad idea since the alley was pretty narrow and while the car couldn't get through because of the tightness, it still made me that much easier to hit.

"Where are you?" John's voice said this time.

"I'm actually not sure and am I on speaker phone?" I questioned as the guys rounded the corner, opening fire again. "Do these guys ever freaking run out of bullets?"

Surprisingly none of them hit me, though it was very close when one zipped by me, slicing a clean slash in the side of my top.

"River, I need you to figure out where you are." This time it was Mycroft who spoke. "I can help you then."

"Um, okay." I said, exiting the alley. I thought I would be semi safe once I got out of the line of fire, but there was just another car, waiting for me. "Please hold."

I tucked the phone into my pocket and dashed across the street, a bullet grazing past my left shoulder blade. There was a medium sized car on the other side of the road and as the second car with gunmen in it came around the corner, I jumped up, sliding across the hood of the car and dropping down behind the car as I got to the other side, out of the way of fire for now. I pulled the phone back out and put it to my ear. "Okay. There's a sign that says Princeton Avenue on 72nd. That enough information?"

"Yes. I'm sending some men over there now." Mycroft said.

"River, are you okay?" John asked, his voice concerned.

"Well my shoulder's on fire and bleeding again, along with my left shoulder blade, and I want to pass out. Oh and my legs feel like cooked spaghetti noodles." I said as the gunfire stopped. I flinched slightly as I heard a car door slam shut. Guess one of them was coming for me while the other stayed in order to fire on me if I got back into the line of fire. "I have to go."

I spun around, staying low as the gunman rounded the car as I hit the end call button and let my phone fall down to the asphalt. Throwing myself back onto my palms, I threw my leg up to knock the gun out of his hands and up into the air before effectively kicking the guy in the groin. The guys in the car fired on the gun as it flew into the air. I rolled my eyes. The guy I had kicked crumbled to the ground, groaning in pain and I pushed myself back onto my haunches, catching the gun as it fell. I pointed it at the man on the ground and put my finger to my lips before picking up my phone and scrolling through the different things I had on it until I got to my recording of gunfire. Opening that, I pulled out the small flashlight I had in my pocket. Once I had that I pulled the guy to a sitting position and he stayed silent as I searched his pockets for rope, which he had, and tied the flashlight onto his shoulder so that it was facing back at me. He was the right size for my plan. Once I was done with that, I swung the gun and hit him in the back of the skull with it. I didn't know if I had killed him or knocked him out but at the moment it didn't matter to me as I turned him around so that the black flashlight was positioned on the hood of the car. I balanced the gun on my knee as I turned the volume up on my phone - which it could go super loud - and set it beside the guy. Simultaneously, pressing play on the sound effects and turning the flashlight on, which it had this handy feature that made it actually flash. So it would hopefully blind them.

I heard shouts of surprise as I picked the gun up again and quietly and quickly darted behind another car while they were distracted. I kept moving, staying low as not to be seen, and continued darting from car to car, which it was helpful that there was a long line of cars on the side of the street. I glanced back in shock when I heard the sound of a loud explosion followed by several others and I only had a second to realize that the line of cars I'd used for cover were now exploding due to the bullets that had probably sparked the fuel before I was thrown quite a distance away.

I cried out as I hit the windshield of a car before I rolled off and onto the asphalt. Quickly covering my head and face as shrapnel flew, I heard the sound of pained yelling from the gunmen's cars. They were much closer to the explosion than I was and I found myself glad for that fact. Though it only lasted a moment as I felt fresh pain lance through me. I groaned and it took everything in me to keep mhy position as hot liquid trailed from my side. It didn't seem to deep, though I guess you could never know.

After another moment of laying on my stomach in that position I cautiously sat up only to feel the cold, hard muzzle of a gun being pressed to the back of my skull. I froze.

"That was me brother." The man holding the gun I had dropped said, angrily. His voice sounded heavily hispanic. "And now he's dead, because of you."

"I don't know which one you're-"

"Shut up!" He yelled, pressing the gun harder into my head. "I don't want to hear it. He was me brother!"

"I'm sorry-" I started, but stopped when he grabbed my injured shoulder and yanked me to my feet, spinning me around as a car drove up. I winced as he pressed the gun to my temple.

"Now, listen." The man said as Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and a few other guys climbed out of the car. "This isn't your problem. So, get back in your cars and leave. Or I will shoot the girl."

"You're planning on doing that anyway." I said softly, wincing when he squeezed my shoulder harder.

"Quiet." He snapped.

Sherlock looked calmly at him. "Let her go."

"No way in hell." The man said angrily before he shoved me back down to my knees, still holding the gun to my head. "Why should I listen to you?"

"Because even if you kill her you aren't getting out of here." Sherlock told him.

"Still, it's better to bring as many people down as you can in these situations, eh?" The man said and I felt fear sweep through me as I heard the resolve in his voice. "Say goodbye."

And that was when he made his first mistake since getting face to face with me. All I needed was for him to step slightly to the side and he complied. I didn't have much time, but I managed to spin to the right as he pulled the trigger and the bullet missed my head by a milimeter. I continued with the spin, grabbing the gun and twisting it out of his hands before I spun to face him, simultaneously rising to my feet. I already had the gun leveled and I took a few steps back away from as he looked at me with shock. "Get on your knees."

"You're not going to shoot me." The man said with a laugh.

I glared. "Considering I just took out all of your partners and I haven't even blinked an eye I suggest you rethink your statement."

He looked back over to the cars that were on fire and slowly lowered down onto his knees.

"Smart choice." I said as one of Mycroft's men pulled out some handcuffs and went around the gunmen, snapping them in place and pulling him to my feet. I let my arms drop to my side, still holding the gun as he led the guy away.

"Why the hell did you take off?!" John yelled.

I winced and turned to face them. "Can the yelling part wait until I'm not so exhausted? It would probably be more effective."

The two of them walked up to me. John spoke first. "We need to get you taken care of."

"Yeah, that would probably be good." I said, wincing again as I shivered. "But let's go to the flat to take care of it. I'll survive till then." I moved past them and headed for the car. "You didn't answer my question." I turned back to face John. "Why'd you take off?"

"If I hadn't you and Sherlock would probably be dead right now along with plenty of innocent people." I answered, turning back to the car and climbing into the passengers side. Mycroft, John, and Sherlock climbed in along with the other guy. The driver was around twenty nine and seemed completely focused on the road. I sighed softly and rested my head against the window, shivering again. Somehow I managed to fall asleep despite the pain running through me.

**(Hope this makes up for the short one that I posted last time. And I hope you guys like it. Thanks for the reviews and the support. In this chapter I wanted to give a little more on River and Robert and give some insight on the kind of life she had before she met Sherlock. Also I hope I did okay with the things she endured and I hope it wasn't too completely unrealistic. I also don't know when I will post again, but I will do my best. I'm probably going to start another fanfiction, but I will keep up with this one. Promise. Keep up the reviews, please. They really do motivate me to write more and they do give me a little bit of a boost when I read them. Thanks guys.)**


	15. Chapter 15

When I woke up I was lying on the couch and Sherlock and John were focused on the pictures over the fireplace. The pictures of the shelf had been added to the mix. I was still slightly sore, but my shoulder had been rebandaged along with my stomach wound. Guess I was right. Wasn't that deep.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in." Sherlock said and I frowned as I tried to focus on the case again. Sherlock started speaking again. "Hours later, he dies."

"The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home." John added and I looked at him in slight surprise. He really was getting a hang of this.

"Late that night, he dies too." Sherlock tacked on and I focused more intently on the pictures though I knew I couldn't decipher them. At least not yet.

"Why did they die, Sherlock?" John asked softly. I glanced over at Sherlock who was gently running his fingers over the line painted across Sir William's face.

"Only the cipher can tell us." He said before thoughtfully tapping his finger against the photo. I couldn't see Sherlock's face, but from John's expression it seemed that Sherlock had an idea.

A moment later John turned, noticing me. "You're awake."

Sherlock turned around to look at me as well and I pushed myself into the sitting position, wincing slightly at the twinge of pain in my shoulder, but ignoring it for the most part. I looked between the two of them.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, his voice soft as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

"Sore, but fine." I responded, leaning back against the couch and glancing over at John, waiting to see if he was in fact going to yell at me.

"Did you mean to kill those people?" John asked, surprising me slightly. I had expected him to chew me out for running off in the first place.

"No." I answered, keeping my expression calm. "I only provided a distraction so I could get out of there without them noticing. They shot at the car and it went up, setting the others off as well. None of them were supposed to die. I was bluffing. I mean I probably would have hsot that guy, but I wouldn't have killed him. Not if I didn't have to."

John sighed and nodded. "Don't ever do that again."

"Aww, it looks like someone is getting attached." I said in a teasing voice, but I quickly sobered when I realized that was very possible.

"This isn't a joking matter." Sherlock said. "You could've died and probably almost did."

I nodded and pulled my knees up to my chest. "I know. But there isn't exactly anything else I could've done, is there?"

"I'm just going to go speak with Mrs. Hudson." John said before he went downstairs.

Sherlock started pacing again and I figured that it must be really different for him, being the parent. I sighed and looked down.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, looking over at me as he stopped pacing.

"It's just I realize that we aren't exactly normal father and daughter." I said, getting to my feet. "And I don't know how to act in this kind of situation. I doubt you're doing much better. I guess I don't think it's right for you to have to try to adjust to finding out you have a daughter after sixteen years. Not to mention all of the trouble I've brought down on you."

"I go looking for trouble. Trust me it isn't a bother." Sherlock said, offhandidly. "The only thing that's bothering me about this situation is that you keep pretending that you aren't scared, you keep acting as if your injuries are nothing, and you keep hurting yourself."

I looked up at him and sighed. "I don't want to hold anyone up."

"Taking care of yourself would actually help speed things up." Sherlock disagreed. "These side problems wouldn't be problems because you would probably have been able to see them coming long before you were put in the situations you keep finding yourself in."

"I guess we both have some stuff to work on." I said, tucking some hair behind my ear. After a moment of silence I walked past Sherlock and focused on the pictures as I waited for John to come back. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Sherlock asked,frowning at me.

"For making you worry." I responded before going downstairs to find John.

**(Hey Sorry it's so short and took so long for me to update. It took me a little while to figure out how to make Sherlock seem more of a father figure while still making it sound like Sherlock. I don't think I did very well, but I'm going to keep working at it and I didn't want you guys to have to wait too much longer. Let me know what you think. I love reviews. Thanks guys.)**


	16. Chapter 16

Later we headed for the National Gallery. John and Sherlock had both instructed me to be less reckless if something happened, otherwise they wouldn't let me go with them. I was actually going to listen too. Well as best as I could anyways.

"The world's run on codes and ciphers, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment." Sherlock was saying.

"Yes, okay, but ..." John said, trailing off.

"... but it's all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it." I finished for him.

"Where are we headed?" John inquired and I looked to Sherlock, having also been wondering about this.

"I need to ask some advice."

"What?! Sorry?!" John said, his voice colored with disbelief and when I turned to look at him there was a slight smile on his face that conveyed the emotion as well.

"You heard me perfectly. I'm not saying it again." Sherlock said, his voice sharp and calm.

"You need advice?"

"On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert." Sherlock said leading us toward the entrance to the National Gallery...and straight around to the rear of the building where a young man with short brown hair was spray-stenciling onto a solid metal door. The image appeared to be a policeman holding a rifle in his hands, but instead of a human nose, he had a pig's snout.

A large canvas bag was at the man's feet and he was holding spray cans in both hands. With one of the cans he had sprayed his tag, "RAZ", below the image and he was now adding the finishing touches to his 'artwork'. He continued spraying, unperturbed, as Sherlock, John, and I approached.

RAZ: Part of a new exhibition.

"Interesting." Sherlock said, though his tone suggested the opposite as he reached into his coat pocket.

John looked at Sherlock in disbelief.

"I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy." The man chuckled and I frowned.

"Catchy." Jhon murmured, looking over the painting. He clearly didn't think so.

"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner." Raz said, still spraying as he spoke. After he finished a few more details he turned to look at Sherlock. "Can we do this while I'm workin'?"

Sherlock had taken his phone from his coat pocket and now held it out towards Raz, who turned around and tossed one of the spray cans at John. I watched as John instinctively caught it, looking at Sherlock and Raz in bewilderment. I had to admit I was confused as well. I mean, it made sense that Sherlock would go to an artist for advice on painting or anything to do with painting, but why this artist? Raz took Sherlock's phone and scrolled down. I assumed Sherlock was showing him the pictures of the ciphers in both Sir William's office and the library.

"Know the author?" Sherlock inquired.

"Recognize the paint." Raz said still staring at the screen. "Looks like Michigan; hardcore propellant." He looked up at Sherlock. "I'd say zinc."

"What about the symbols: do you recognize them?" I asked a little impatient. Raz turned to me for the first time as I spoke and for a moment he did nothing but stare before he squinted at the pictures. "Not even sure it's a proper language."

"Two men have been murdered, Raz." Sherlock said, his tone hard. "Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"What, and this is all you've got to go on?" He asked, incredulous as he looked at Sherlock. "It's hardly much, now, is it?"

"Are you gonna help us or not?" Sherlock demanded, overlapping Raz.

Raz stared at Sherlock for a moment, licking his lips and nodding a bit. "I'll ask around."

"Somebody must know something about it." Sherlock insisted.

"Oi!" A voice called out and the four of us turned to see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards us.

Sherlock instantly grabbed his phone and my hand before running in the opposite direction while Raz dropped his spray can, kicked his bag towards John and also fled. John however didn't get the memo.

After a few minutes of running, my side flared with pain and I jerked on Sherlock's hand before slowing to a stop, clutching my side. Sherlock looked back at me, also stopping before he came to stand beside me.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned.

"I'll be fine." I answered, straightening. "Running just hurts."

I sighed and headed forward at a walk. Sherlock fell into step with me and I glanced over at him.

"How are you doing emotionally?" Sherlock inquired and I glanced over at him. For once I was confused. "You did get people killed yesterday."

"They would've killed me." I said, my tone nonchalant. "I had no choice."

"I'm not accusing you, River." Sherlock said, looking straight ahead. "I understand that it can be emotionally overwhelming to take the life of another creature. Especially since you're so young."

"I'm fine." I murmured, brushing my hair out of my face. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock questioned, frowning.

"You did just recently find out you have a daughter." I said with a smile. "That can be emotionally overwhelming as well."

"I'm doing fine with it." Sherlock answered as we approached the flat. We were silent as we climbed the stairs and entered the living room, Sherlock immediately going over to hang some more pictures on the wall over the fireplace before stripping his coat and scarf off, discarding them on a chair.

I sighed and plopped down on the couch, lying down and closing my eyes. I wasn't tired, but I wasn't wide awake either. It was a weird feeling for me. I wasn't sure how long Sherlock and I sat there in silence, but when I heard the door slam shut, I opened my eyes and sat up.

John walked into the room, his expression full of controlled anger.

"You've been a while." Sherlock said, not turning to look at him.

I watched as John walked a few more paces into the room, his fists clenched and his shoulder's rigid.

He stopped, blinking as he fought to keep his anger under control before he turned to face Sherlock.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is." John said in a tight voice as he turned and walked the other direction. "Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?" He started pacing, an angry half-smile half-grimace on his face. "Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I've gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday."

Sherlock was still looking at the pictures and when he spoke it was quite obvious he wasn't really paying any attention to what John was saying. "What?"

"Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. They're givin' me an ASBO!" John said, near yelling at this point. I cringed away from him, glad he wasn't angry at me - at the moment - but afraid of what might happen if he did decide to turn his anger on me.

"Good. Fine." Sherlock said, still not paying attention.

"You wanna tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up any time." John said, walking a few more paces and looking around the room.

"This symbol: I still can't place it." Sherlock said, agitated as he slammed the book he was reading shut. He turned and putting the book down, he walked over to John who had just started to take off his jacket and pulled the jacket back onto his shoulders. "No, I need you to go to the police station ..." John protested as Sherlock continued speaking, steering him towards the door. "... ask about the journalist."

John was obviously very exasperated with Sherlock at this point.

I stood and followed them.

"His personal effects will have been impounded." Sherlock said, grabbing his own coat from the back of the door before tossing mine over to me. "Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements.

As I followed them downstairs, I pulled my jacket on and zipped it up. Soon we were out on the street.

"Gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A." Sherlock said, pulling his gloves out of his pocket. "If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide."

He walked off down the street and I followed.

Sherlock stood behind Van Coon's personal assistant, Amanda, who was looking at an online calendar. We had gone to Shad Sanderson Bank, where Van Coon had worked.

"Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team." Amanda said, slight surprise as she turned to look at Sherlock.

"Can you print me up a copy?" Sherlock asked calmly with his hands behind his back.

"Sure." Amanda said, turning back to the screen.

"What about the day he died?" Sherlock inquired, pointing to the screen. "Can you tell me where he was?"

"Sorry. Bit of a gap." Amanda said and I sighed, realizing that this was in fact true and Monday the 22nd was in fact blank. Sherlock looked away in frustration.

"I have all his receipts." Amanda said, trying to be helpful.

I turned to her. "Could you get them? Thanks."

She hurried off and as soon as she was out of sight, I sat down behind her computer, pulling up a different webpage. Sherlock frowned, leaning down and looking over my shoulder at what I was doing.

Pulling my phone, out I plugged it into the computer, hiding it behind the monitor as I started running a trace on the call I had gotten the day before. Robert certainly wouldn't be there anymore, but it would give me a place to start. Soon I heard the sound of Amanda coming back and I quickly hid the browser and stood up, taking a casual position near the wall.

She quickly spread the receipts on her desk.

"What kind of a boss was he, Amanda?" Sherlock asked, glancing at all of the receipts. There was about fifty of them. "Appreciative?"

"Um, no. That's not a word I'd use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag." Amanda said, playing with her fingers.

Sherlock knelt down on the floor and took off his gloves. "Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn't he?"

Amanda looked at him in surprise as she fiddled with her hair pin.

Sherlock shuffled through the paperwork before picking up a receipt from a licensed taxi. Dated 22 March 2010 and timed at 10:35, the receipt was for £18.50. He handed it up to Amanda who hesitantly took it as Sherlock started going through more of them. "Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."

"That would get him to the office." Amanda said, plainly.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I glanced over at the computer. It wasn't the right time for him to be going to the office.

"Not rush hour; check the time. Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as ..." Sherlock trailed off, still shuffling through the receipts.

"The West End." Amanda realized, squinting her eyes. "I remember him saying."

I glanced over Sherlock's shoulder as he picked up a London Underground ticket with the same date on it and issued at "Picadilly". He handed that up to Amanda. "Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly."

"So he got a Tube back to the office." I murmured, going over the rest still.

"Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?" Amanda asked, looking at Sherlock in confusion.

"Because he was delivering something heavy. Didn't want to lug a package up the escalator." Sherlock answered, setting down the receipt he had in his hand.

"Delivering?" Amanda asked, still very much confused.

I glanced at her. "To somewhere near Piccadilly Station."

"Dropped the package, delivered it and then ..." Sherlock found another receipt and stood, looking at it. It was from the Pizzs Espresso Bar Italiano. "... stopped on his way. He got peckish."

Good. We had a lead now.

"Amanda, could you get me some water please?" I asked, smiling at her.

She nodded. "Sure." With that she walked off and I again went to sit behind her computer, pulling up the trace and quickly loading the rest directly to my phone before I unplugged it from the computer, closing the webpage I had open and erasing all existence of it being there. By the time Amanda got back I was standing in the same place I had been when she'd left.

She handed me the water and I smiled, taking the cup from her and following Sherlock out of the office. "Thanks."

I quickly drank it down, throwing the plastic cup into the garbage before continuing outside.

Later Sherlock and I were at the espresso bar and Sherlock was talking to himself as we walked past it. I glanced around, looking for any signs. As Sherlock spoke, he turned in circles also looking for clues. "So you bought your lunch from here en route to the station, but where were you headed from? Where did the taxi drop you ...?"

I glanced over when I heard a cry of surprise and realized that Sherlock had bumped into John who was holding a book that must be Lukis' diary.

"Right." John said.

"Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information ..." Sherlock said quickly and intently.

John nodded along with what he said before interrupting. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock didn't seem to notice as he continued speaking. "… credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here."

"Sherlock.." John repeated, now getting slightly irritated.

Sherlock turned to look around again. "Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but ..."

"That shop over there." John said, pointing across the street and Sherlock and I followed his gaze.

Sherlock looked at the shop, then back at John, frowning. "How can you tell?"

"I'm wondering that myself." I said, still looking over at the shop.

"Lukis' diary." John said showing us the entry. "He was here too. He wrote down the address." John said before turning and heading towards the shop.

"Oh." Sherlock said before we followed after John.

"That's handy." I murmured as we headed into the shop.

It consisted largely of creepy, decorative cats which were perched on their hind legs with a front paw raised. Some were waving.

"Hello." John greeted the shop keeper.

I glanced around at the objects and grimaced.

"You want lucky cat?" The lady asked John.

"No, thanks. No." John said, still trying to be polite.

"Ten pound. Ten pound!" The woman insisted. I glanced over at her before ambling over to Sherlock who was setting an ornament back down on it's shelf.

"No." John replied with an awkward smile.

"I think your wife, she will like!" The lady continued.

She was pretty persistent, which probably meant she didn't get many customers. Though I wasn't surprised.

"No, thank you." John said, walking over to one of the tables and examining some ceramic cups that had no handles. Sherlock was looking at clay statues.

I sighed and headed over to the far corner, fiddling with some artistic fans.

"Sherlock? River?" John called and I quickly set the fans down before heading over to him. "The label there."

"Yes, I see it." Sherlock said. I peered over and saw that he was looking at the same sort-of upside down eight with a line above that had been painted on the painting and the shelf.

"Exactly the same as the cipher." John said, clearing his throat awkwardly and putting the cup back. Sherlock got an expression of realization on his face and as I continued to stare at the symbol it dawned on me.

"That's why it's familiar to me!" I exclaimed, making John jump along with the shop lady. "Sorry."

I turned back to Sherlock and John. "Come on."

I led them out of the shop and Sherlock began speaking before I could. "It's an ancient number system! Hangzhou. These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library." He led us over to a greengrocer's which had some wares displayed. The boxes had handwritten signs on them, giving the names of the vegetables in both Chinese and English and as Sherlock turned them over to show us the cost it was in both Hangzhou and English.

"Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect." I confirmed, looking at the costs of the vegetables.

John walked over to one of the signs that had the upside down eight and slash above it and it's English equivalent underneath. "It's a fifteen! What we thought was the artist's tag – it's a number fifteen."

"And the blindfold – the horizontal line? That was a number as well." Sherlock said, showing us a price tag with the same mark. He grinned triumphantly. "Chinese number one."

"We've found it!" John said, excited.

Sherlock turned and walked away with me right behind him.

"River?" John inquired as he caught up with us a moment later.

"Hmm?" I asked, glancing over at him.

"Where have you seen Hangzhou before? Someone your age, I'd expect you to be reading different subject matters."

I felt a stab of pain in my heart as I thought about how I knew the dialect. "It doesn't matter, John. Let it be."

John frowned. "You always do that. Shut people out whenever they try to get to know you. Why?"

"Because there's some things you aren't going to want to know." I answered, speeding up.

"It's certainly not going to help you if you keep it all bottled up like this." John said, walking beside me. Sherlock glanced over, listening though he didn't seem to be in the helping mood as he let John continue with his questioning. "Look, you can tell pretty much my life story from a glance, it's only fair that I get to know some of yours."

"Okay. Get better at observing and then maybe you'll figure it out." I snapped, angrily.

"How bad could it be?" John demanded, throwing his hands up. "It's just a small piece of information telling us a bit more about you. You know, since we live together maybe it'd be a good idea to know each other instead of being complete strangers."

"What do you want me to tell you?" I snapped stopping and turning to face him. "You want me to tell you about how much my life sucked? About how I was beat for being late home from school? Or how he locked me in a stone coffin for days on end? Does me telling you any of this make anything better?"

John stared at me for a few seconds, not speaking. I waited for twenty more seconds before I shook my head and walked off, heading for The Lucky Cat.

Later Sherlock, John, and I were sitting in a diner, Sherlock writing two Hangzhou numbers on a napkin while John jotted some things down in a notebook, glancing at me occasionally. I hadn't done anything but stare outside the window at The Lucky Shop ever since we'd gotten here.

John had tried to start some harmless conversations with me, but I'd refused to speak to him.

John and Sherlock had eventually ordered something to eat, though it still hadn't arrived.

"Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?" John wondered and I glanced over.

Sherlock tucked his pen away into his coat pocket before folding the napkin up as he spoke. "It's not what they saw; it's what they both brought back in those suitcases."

"And you don't mean duty free." John stated.

The waitress walked over and set two plates of food on the table. One in front of John and one in front of Sherlock.

"Thank you." John said as she left.

Sherlock slid his plate over to me and I looked over at him in surprise.

"You haven't eaten all day." He told me, nodding down at the food before turning back to John, leaning on the table. "Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market."

"Lost five million..." John said, cutting into his chicken.

"... made it back in a week." Sherlock added, calmly.

"Mmm." John agreed, glancing at me again. I looked down at the food Sherlock had ordered for me and carefully picked up a fork, taking a small bite. As it turned out I was actually rather hungry.

"That's how he made such easy money." Sherlock said, looking over at The Lady Cat.

"He was a smuggler. Mmm." John said, taking a bite of his food.

"A guy like him – it would have been perfect. Business man... making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same...a journalist writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off." Sherlock said, examining the shop.

"But why did they die?" John asked, looking away from the shop and adjusting his notebook. "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?"

I took another bite of food as I thought it through. They were smugglers, not a far cry from thief.

Sherlock sat back thoughtfully for a few seconds then smiled as he realized the answer. "What if one of them was light-fingered?"

"How d'you mean?" John wondered.

"Stole something; something from the hoard." Sherlock explained.

Realization flooded John's face. "And the killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right." He looked back to his food, nodding.

Sherlock looked out the window towards the shop again. "Remind me...when was the last time that it rained?" Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and left the restaurant. I let my fork clatter onto the half-empty plate before I got up and followed Sherlock. John wasn't far behind.

As I reached Sherlock, who was looking at the Yellow Pages, I saw that they were wet.

"It's been here since Monday." Sherlock said, straightening up and ringing the doorbell. He only waited a moment before heading off to the right and down an alley. I followed after, looking around.

"No-one's been in that flat for at least three days." Sherlock said, walking forward determined.

"Could've gone on holiday." John said, struggling to keep up.

"Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?" Sherlock asked, looking up at the cantilevered metal fire escape above us. Taking a short run at it, he jumped and grabbed the end, pulling it down towards him until it touched the ground before he ran up the steps towards the open window of the flat. As he reached the top, the ladder swung back to the horizontal position behind him.

"Sherlock!" John called, before turning and running back along the alley to the front of the building.

I sighed and backed up, running and pushing off of the wall to get the height to just barely reach the ladder and pull it down, wincing as it caused a slight pain in my side and shoulder, but it wasn't too bad. I clambered up after Sherlock who had climbed through the window and into the kitchen. I heard a muffled cry of alarm and then the light sound of glass sliding against wood. I looked through the window to see Sherlock holding a vase, obviously having just caught it. I frowned when I saw a wet patch on the run in the precise place where the vase would have hit if it had reached the floor.

Straightening up, Sherlock turned to me."Someone else has been here." He put the vase back on the table and looked around. "Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase just like I did."

I climbed through the window and watched as Sherlock bent down and opened the washing machine, taking out an item of clothing, sniffing it and grimacing before throwing the clothing back into the washing machine and pushing the door closed as John - presumably - rung the doorbell.

Sherlock grabbed a tea towel that was nearby as John spoke. "Think maybe you could let me in this time?"

Sherlock felt the tea towel, which looked quite dry, before he moved onwards.

"Can you not keep doing this, please?" John called.

I frowned as I continued looking around in the foyer, moving a little out of Sherlock's sight.

"We're not the first." Sherlock called to John.

"What?" John cried. I rolled my eyes as I glanced at a stack of rather dusty books.

"Somebody's been in here before us!" Sherlock said louder.

"What are you saying?" John demanded as I walked over to Sherlock who had taken his pocket magnifier from his coat and was looking down to where a foot and left an impression of a shoe.

"Size eight feet." Sherlock said, pushing through the beaded curtain between the kitchen and the bedroom/living room, still examining the rug. "Small, but ... athletic." He straightened up, looking thoughtful.

I went over and picked up a framed photograph of two young Chinese children - a boy and a girl. A fresh handprint was on the glass where someone had pressed their fingers against the image of the girl.

Sherlock took the picture from me and held the magnifier over the fingerprints as he gently ran his gloved fingers along them to gauge the size. "Small, strong hands." Closing the magnifier, he put the picture down again. "Our acrobat." He frowned, looking around. "But why didn't he close the window when he left ...?"

We both froze as we realized the truth. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, stupid. Stupid. Obvious. He's still here."

I frowned and backed up, looking around. Sherlock put the magnifier into his pocket and walked carefully towards a screen and as he reached forward I turned, making sure that whoever was here wasn't about to jump on me. I spun back around in shock when I heard a cry of pain, but before I had time to register what was going on there was suddenly something wrapped tightly around my neck and I couldn't breath. The intruder pushed me easily down onto my back as he continued to throttle me, my attempts at relieving the pressure on my neck failing.

"Any time you want to include me." John called angrily.

"John!" I gasped out. "John!"

""No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT!"" John yelled. I barely registered that Sherlock had been knocked unconscious as my vision blurred, colors pulsing in front of my eyes. John once again rung the doorbell.

"John." I gasped out, my eyes closing as I continued to struggle, kicking and clawing at my attacker while simultaneously trying to get the scarf off of my neck. As my struggles weakened, the scarf tightened and with one last ditch effort I opened my eyes, pulling at the scarf.

"Sherlock!" I managed to get a little volume and it seemed to be enough to get Sherlock to stir. My eyes drifted closed again and my struggles became nonexistent as I became limp on the floor. Then I didn't feel anything at all.

The first feeling I became aware of was a pressure, pushing me painfully into the floor and letting up before repeating. It was keeping a steady pace and then it dawned on me. I hadn't been able to breathe, someone must be doing compression's. I tried to take a breath, but found I was having difficulty moving or even opening my eyes.

"River, come on." A very faint but familiar voice filtered in through the fog that was clouding my mind. "Breathe."

I tried to follow the instructions and was rewarded with a small bit of air before everything flooded back in and I started coughing and gasping as I tried to breathe normally. The compression's had stopped and someone was rolling me onto my side. A moment later I realized the scarf had been removed from my neck and someone was speaking.

"River, can you hear me?" The familiar voice asked.

As the coughs subsided, I started gasping in air as I pushed myself off of the floor. Someone helped me up and I cringed away, turning so I could see who it was. When I did I collapsed against them with relief as I got my breathing under a little more control. However, I was now able to focus on the other pains. My chest hurt from the compression's, my throat was sore, I was lightheaded, my head hurt, and my shoulder and side were in agony.

After a moment of just sitting there I realized that I was shaking and Sherlock had wrapped his arms around me and was murmuring soft reassurances to me. He seemed a little hesitant, but that was alright with me.

I let my eyes shut again as I relaxed my body to stop myself from shaking so much.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, brushing some hair out of my face.

"Sherlock." I gasped out. "Thank you. John...he couldn't hear me."

"Hello? I'm still out here! Sherlock!" John called, his voice angry.

Sherlock pulled away so he could look me in the face. "Do you think you can stand?"

I nodded and he unwrapped his arms, standing and grabbing my hands to help me up. I swayed on my feet for a moment, but then I was more or less stable.

"Our acrobat left a gift." Sherlock said, leading me towards the stairs that lead to the door as he showed me an origami flower. It only took a few moments before we were outside.

John made an exasperated sound and glared at us.

"The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago." Sherlock said, looking at John.

"Somebody?" John inquired.

Sherlock nodded. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her."

I glanced down and bent to retrieve an envelope that was on the ground.

"But how, exactly?" John demanded.

The back of the envelope read:

SOO LIN

Please ring me

tell me you're

OK

Andy

I unfolded it and looked at the front. Printed in the bottom right hand corner was:

NATIONAL

ANTIQUITIES

MUSEUM

"Maybe we could start with this." I said, my voice raspy. I walked down the road, Sherlock beside me and John following.

"You've gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?" John asked.

"I'm fine." I said, coughing some more.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock was pacing around a display area as he interviewed Andy. "When was the last time that you saw her?"

"Three days ago, um, here at the museum." Andy said as I looked about. One thing that stuck out to me were some clay teapots that were in a case. Most of them were dull, but one shines as if it had recently been polished.

"This morning they told me she'd resigned just like that." Andy said as Sherlock wandered over to a case full of jade figurines. "Just left her work unfinished."

Sherlock turned to him. "What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?"

Andy looked between us for a moment before motioning for us to follow him. He led us down to the basement archive and turned the lights on as he led us into the archive.

As he led us down the long white hallway he spoke.

"She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here." He led us to the open stack and started to turn the handle at the end to wident the gap. I turned and looked to Sherlock as he nudged my shoulder a little. His gaze however was focused on further into the room and when I turned to see what had caught his attention I saw that it was a life-sized sculpture of a nude woman that also happened to be spray painted with the same graffiti as the others. I slowly walked over to stand next to Sherlock as I examined the graffiti. Sherlock quickly turned and headed back the way we'd come, briefly glancing into the stack that Andy had been about to show us. I followed him out into the main room before going out into the cold night, John following closely.

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao." Sherlock said, his tone calm as we descended the concrete steps.

"If she's still alive." John said as he buttoned his coat.

"Sherlock!" Raz's voice sounded and I quickly turned to see him running over to us.

"Oh, look who it is." John said, his voice irritated.

"Found something you'll like." Raz said, glancing at John before trotting off, Sherlock, John, and I following.

As I walked, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my messages and texts. Most were unimportant at the moment, but there was one that stuck out to me. It was an unknown number.

**(Sorry, for the shortness. I wanted to get something else up for you guys, but I will be working on a longer chapter over the next two weeks at most. Promise. I've just been really busy and haven't had much time to write. I'm sorry and thanks for those of you who have been reading this story. I really appreciate it and those who have reviewed, thanks. Most of this story would not be here without those reviews so thank you. Happy Early X-mas!)**


	18. Chapter 18

**(Warning, there's slight violence and near rape in this chapter, but it's not too graphic. Please review and let me know what you think.)**

Soon we were all walking across the Hungerford Bridge, heading towards the south of the river. I wasn't sure what to make of the number or of the fact that John was still trying to make amends with me though I was making it clear that I wasn't interested. I understood that I couldn't bottle up everything, but at the same time Sherlock and John couldn't know about some of the things that had happened to me or the things that I had done to survive.

"Tuesday morning, all you've gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours." John said as we walked forward.

"Can we forget about your court date?" Sherlock asked, his voice holding the slightest bit of annoyance.

John looked at him sharply. "I'm sorry that it's such an inconvenience to you. However, I think that a meeting in court is going to cause some turmoil in our current case."

"Give it a rest." I snapped, walking a bit faster as I passed John. "It doesn't currently matter."

"Right." I could practically feel his gaze burning the back of my head. "So, how long are you going to be mad at me?"

"You're the one who demanded answers and then went all quiet." I called back as Raz led us across the undercroft. We were in an area that was a sort of skating rink and by skating I meant skateboarding. There was a bunch of graffiti painting the walls and a few people doing stunts on their boards.

"If you wanna hide a tree in the middle of a forest, this is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say?" Sherlock commented as we headed down some stairs. "People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."

Raz pointed to an area on the graffitied wall and I looked over to see splashes of the yellow paint forming Chinese symbols. A few of them had been painted over. "There. I spotted it earlier."

"They have been here." Sherlock murmured, before turning to Raz. "And that's the exact same paint?"

"Yeah." Raz answered, glancing at me. Something I'd noticed was he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of me. I'd been trying to ignore him, but it was slightly difficult when he decided to speak to me as Sherlock led John over to closer inspect the paint.

"So, you know my name, but I don't know yours." He said, tucking his hands into his pockets and looking me over. "Care to share?"

"Not really." I answered, looking around and hoping he would take the hint.

"Well, sweetheart, if you don't tell me your name, then I'll have to make one up for you." Raz said, smiling at me.

My gaze snapped to his when he used the name 'sweetheart' in reference to me and chills ran up my spine. It was surprising how quickly the atmosphere could turn from irritated and slightly light to something more...frightening. Suddenly, I wasn't very comfortable being alone with Raz, but Sherlock and John had disappeared. I didn't want to be alone either.

All in all I wasn't sure what kind of person Raz was or if he would hurt me to get what he wanted. And he definitely wanted something I didn't want to give from the way he was shifting closer to me.

"Stay away from me." I said, my tone cold as I moved to back away from him.

He frowned and just like that his expression wasn't that of the young delinquent but rather it was something more dark. His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to me. "Where are you going? Don't you like my company?"

"Come any closer and I'll scream." I said, taking another step back only to bump into a wall.

"Go ahead. Everyone's left so no one'll hear you." Raz said, stepping closer until he was pressed up against me. "Sherlock and that friend of yours didn't even stick around or wait for you. They obviously don't care about what happens to you."

I clenched my hands into fists as Raz ran his hands slowly up and down my arms. "Get away from me."

Unfortunately my voice came out sounding scared instead of firm as I was going for. What was I supposed to do? He hadn't left me any room to do anything that would have any effect. Now all I could do was hope that Sherlock and John would come back soon. But what if Raz was right? What if they didn't care? John had probably decided that he didn't want anything to do with a tempermental teenager and Sherlock probably realized how much he didn't want a daughter. I mean, who would?

Raz quickly brought his head down to crash his lips onto mine and I quickly bit down on his bottom lip. This however didn't have the intended effect as he just made a slightly amused and pleasured sound before pulling away and running his lips along my jawline, his hands now gripping painfully tight on my arms as I struggled against him.

"Shh." He said softly, kissing my cheek softly as a few tears fell, fear overwhelming me as I was once again helpless. "It's okay. We're going to have so much fun."

"I'm going to kill you, first chance I get." I murmured, my voice wavering with fear as tears continued to silently fall.

Raz just smiled and kissed my lips again, but when he realized I wasn't being cooperative to his plans he pushed me harder into the wall, his hands pulling at my shirt. My arms now free I brought them up and started pushing against him to try to get him off of me, but given the amount of space between us, it did no good.

He ran his hand roughly up my side, causing pain to flare from the cut that I had. I groaned and again tried biting down on his lip. He seemed to think my reaction was a good one as he seemed to get more excited. His hands traveled up my body and he brought his lips to my neck. I cried out as he pressed on my wounded side before he started to unhook my bra.

"Stop!" I cried, pushing at his arms. He angrily brought his head back up so he was staring into my eyes, his hands coming up to position themselves on either side of my head. "Get away from me now and I won't tell the police."

"The police, huh?" He asked in dangerous tones, stroking my cheek. "You aren't going to tell them anything or I'm going to find you and do worse to you then I'm already planning. Do you understand?"

I looked away from him as I tried to press myself further into the wall to put some distance between us. He grabbed my chin and yanked my head up so I was looking at him. "I said do you understand?!"

I ripped my chin out of his hand and threw my weight against him managing to knock him back enough for me to get out of the tight space, but before I could run he grabbed me by the hair and threw me down to the ground,causing me to scream. Kicking up at him, I tried to prevent him from pinning me, but I had hit my head on the pavement and found myself dazed while the world spun.

Raz pinned my arms over my head though at this point he didn't need to as I tried to gain a bearing on my senses. I heard the distinct sound of a zipper unzipping before I felt Raz's hands start trying to unbutton my jeans.

"No!" I protested, grabbing his wrists and trying to pull them off only to be rewarded by a slap across the face before he grabbed my head in both of his hands before slamming it back into the pavement. Pain erupted in my head and I screamed as he got ready to slam my head into the ground again, but he was suddenly knocked off of me before he could.

I let my head drop gently back down onto the pavement as I tried to keep my eyes open. There was a warm sticky liquid spreading under me and after a confused moment I realized that it must be blood. Letting my head roll to the side, I saw Sherlock standing over a now unconscious Raz, anger clear on his features before he turned and headed over to me. John just then caught up and he stopped beside me, his hands instantly going to my head so he could assess the danger.

I closed my eyes and did my best not to struggle against him as his actions caused the pain to spread more throughout my head as the world spun.

"Sherlock, hold her head up so I can see how bad the damage is." John's voice said and I groaned softly as my head was lifted off the ground.

I forced my eyes open and looked up at a still very angry and now worried Sherlock. "You came back. He said you wouldn't."

"I won't leave you again." Sherlock murmured softly. I calculated his response and expression for a moment before a sharp stinging pain in my skull caused me to whimper and pull my arms in closer to myself. I assumed that the pain was from what John was doing and that was the only thing keeping me from tearing myself away and holding my head as if that would make the pain stop.

"Sorry." John said, his tone truly apologetic as he continued working on me. A few more minutes passed before John pulled his hands away and I surrendered to sleep.

When I woke up, I woke up screaming. Shock filled me when I felt someone start to gently shake me until I opened my eyes, now fully awake. I quickly clutched tightly onto whoever was on the bed next to me and started to cry, not really caring who was actually sitting next to me until they wrapped their arm around my shoulder and moved so they were lying next to me - slightly sitting - in a more comfortable position. Peeking up through my wet lashes, I saw that it was Sherlock and he was softly stroking my hair.

"Everything alright?" I turned my head slightly to see John in the doorway, a worried look on his face.

I sat up a bit, but upon finding that I was still rather dizzy I moved back to my original position as I looked at John, slightly embarrassed.

"Nightmare." I murmured, trying to stop the tears falling from my eyes and failing. "Sorry for waking you."

"It's alright. I don't mind." John said, reassuringly as he came further into the room.

I sighed softly as Sherlock lifted me up so that I was resting against his chest and I clutched his coat in my hands as I closed my eyes, a few tears falling. After a moment, I pulled away from him, - despite the fact that the world started spinning as soon as I did - not sure he would like to deal with me crying on him. "Sorry...I'm sorry. I should've...should've been able...t-to get out of that...situation before...before you had to-"

"Shh." Sherlock said softly, catching me by my shoulders as I threatened to fall over. "It's alright. It's not your fault. It's okay."

As he pulled me back into his arms, I buried my head in his chest and started sobbing as he started gently stroking my hair again.

At some point, John must have left because when I got a hold of myself enough to somewhat stop crying, it was just Sherlock and I in the room. "Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me, River." Sherlock murmured quietly, his hand still stroking my hair in a comforting way. "I will never let anything happen to you."

"I don't understand." I murmured, closing my eyes. "Why? Why do you care?"

"Why wouldn't I?" He asked, his tone carefully controlled.

Opening my eyes again, I carefully uncurled my fingers from Sherlock's shirt. "No one has before."

"They were wrong." Sherlock told me, no doubt in his tone and I carefully turned my head so I could look at him. He seemed to believe what he was saying. I could barely comprehend what he was telling me, but I knew that for whatever reason Sherlock, my father, cared about me. Even if I didn't deserve someone who cared.

"What did you do about Raz?" I wondered, turning my head back to a more comforting position.

"He'll be spending a long time in prison after he gets out of the hospital." Sherlock answered, his tone full of anger though I knew that it wasn't directed at me.

"I'm glad you got there before that could happen to me again." I murmured, wiping my tears away.

I felt Sherlock stiffen underneath me as his hand paused for a moment before he continued stroking my hair, which it was actually helping the headache I had. He didn't say anything and I knew he was leaving it for me to say more only if I wanted to.

"Robert. He's the one who hurt me." I said softly, keeping my face turned away from Sherlock. "He's also the one who sent those men to kill me." The tears were starting again as I spoke. "He's angry because I got away from him, because I spoiled his fun. He laughed when I screamed. I didn't know what to do and no one would help me when I told them what was happening. They all thought that he was perfect because he was the Sheriff and he'd started an Orphanage." I paused so I could judge Sherlock's reaction and when he remained silent I continued. "They all thought he was so kind for taking me in. He made them think he cared about me so no one would take me away. He threatened to hurt the other kids if I told anyone after the first few times. I couldn't let him. They were all so much younger than I was and I couldn't let them suffer what I had." I closed my eyes and curled my hands into fists. "I was late getting home from school so he made me watch as he killed them. He made them scream and then when he was done it was my turn. After a while, I pretended to be dead. He took me out to the river and threw me in." Opening my eyes, I looked up to Sherlock. "Don't let him find me."

"I won't." Sherlock murmured, leaning down to kiss my forehead gently. "Get some sleep, you need to rest. I'll stay with you."

I nodded and adjusted my position so that I was more comfortable and then I closed my eyes. Listening to the sound of Sherlock's heart as he continued to stroke my hair, I soon fell asleep and for once I didn't have nightmares about what Robert had done to me.

**(Sorry, for the long wait. I've been extremely busy, but I hope this makes up for it. Review and let me know what you think and how I did with the last scene with River and Sherlock.)**


End file.
